


Andaran Atish'an

by inarikins



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arlathan, Arlathvhen, Biting, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Vallaslin, two chatty kathys talk some more
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-11
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 00:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2752277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inarikins/pseuds/inarikins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything is over, Rúni Lavellan finds himself with an invitation to Arlathvhen, the meeting of Dalish clans once every ten years. </p><p>(Do not read if you have not finished the game, I am 100000% serious)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. PM if you're interested in helping me out.
> 
> This first chapter was banged out (literally banged, my keyboard is half-defunct) over the course of a few days after beating the game. 7K chapters might not ever happen again, or they'll happen rarely. I couldn't think of a good way to break this up, so I.... didn't. 
> 
> More characters will be introduced no doubt, and ratings will also go up. Not sure what all the future holds for this fic, so I'm not going to try to guess. 
> 
> "Andaran Atishan" means "Enter this Place in Peace" in Elvhen
> 
> Also, please excuse the obviously high Inquisitor below... (and the potato cell-phone-picture-of-a-tv-screen)

The change in the Inquisitor was slow, at first. After it was all over, after Corypheus was dead, Samson safely locked away, most of the things that need his attention taken care of, he started to… drift. That was the only word Dorian could find to explain it. He was more distant, eyes unfocused or staring at walls, obviously listening to the voices inside his head.  
  
It was scary, at first. When Rúni drifted, he was completely oblivious. He couldn’t be jolted out of his dreams, no shout or as much magic as Dorian felt comfortable applying to Rúni seemed to make a difference. But the episodes lasted only moments.  
  
But over the course of days and weeks, those episodes grew in length. He was harder to reach, as well, even if he was fully aware. More prone to being lost in thought, the quick wit turning slow and dull.  
  
“What are you hearing?” He had asked his love’s still, staring body more than once, feeling strangely like he was talking to a statue. Dorian could kiss him, touch his face, curl his fingers through that soft, auburn hair, the same as he always had. But he missed the glitter in his yellow eyes, missed the way Rúni never missed a beat, always had something to say, always had an opinion.  
  
The Mark on his hand was dull now, little more than a simple scar. Sealing that last, final breach had made it grow, though. The white scar spiderwebbed across his palm and over his fingers, working it way up past his elbow. The stark contrast it made against Rúni’s brown skin was intriguing, but the elf no longer responded even to Dorian’s fingers on the scars, on his fingertips. It was shocking, and saddening.  
  
He had been planning on going back to Tevinter, but how could he now? How could he leave Rúni like this, as little more than a shell?  
  
There were moments of complete lucidity, though, where Rúni talked and acted as he had before the Well of Sorrows, where he was ready to spend all his time in meetings or meeting guests that still flocked to Skyhold. And then, Dorian would wake up in the middle of the night from the bed they shared (and they did share now, because Dorian couldn’t stand the thought of not being near if something happened) and Rúni would be gone, slipped through the wards despite the fact that he possessed no magic at all, aside from what lingered in the Mark and the ancient Elven magic of the Well.  
  
Most times, Dorian found him in Solas’s study, staring at the murals. Sometimes, he would be outside on the ramparts, feet dangling out over open air, nothing below but the mountain. Once, sitting in front of the Eluvian.  
  
“You scare me, amatus,” he murmured, and settled in to wait for however long it would take for Rúni to come out of that particular episode.  
  
One time, when Rúni had been awake and aware, fully himself for the first time in days, Dorian asked what he heard. It got him a strange, faraway look, but not the same look Dorian had grown to fear.  
  
“The past, mostly. Arlathan, what it was like when we were immortal…” Rúni blinked then turned to Dorian. He reached out, curling his hands around Dorian’s shoulders. Most of his muscle mass was gone now. He was no longer in the field for days at a time, swinging around that sword as big as he was. Dorian could feel Rúni’s ribs clearly through his thin clothing, could feel his heart beating through the shirt.  
  
“I miss you. You listen to them so much, Rúni.” Dorian clung to Rúni, burying his face in his lover’s shoulder. “You’re gone so much.”  
  
“…I’m sorry.” He sounded surprised. “They have so much to say… There hasn’t been anybody to listen in centuries. Morrigan told me that they were whispering because I’m… inept, or something. I think they were just still asleep. Even now, they’re talking. I can block it out for a time, but then they insist I listen, so… I do.” He shrugged and Dorian let out a tiny, involuntary noise.  
  
“What do they do if you don’t listen?”  
  
“Yell louder, mostly. It gives me a headache, so…” Rúni shook his head. “It’s easier to listen to them, but I didn’t realize it… I didn’t realize the effect it had on you as well.”  
  
“You vanish in the middle of the night, no matter how many wards I put up to alert me. One time I found you standing on the parapets, just inches from open air. One more step and you would have ben dead. Or I find you outside the keep, walking around in the snow barefoot. I mean, I know you’re an elf, but even you will get frostbite eventually. I wake up and you’re gone and I have no idea where you go. I’m scared that one day I’ll find you and you’ll be gone where I can’t bring you back from.” Dorian’s grip tightened on Rúni, holding him as tightly as he dared.  
  
Rúni was quiet. Quiet enough that Dorian started to worry that he had slipped away again. But then Rúni finally sighed. He pulled away so he could look Dorian in the face. “Who’s been taking care of things for the Inquisition?” There was a pinch to his face Dorian hadn’t seen much of except from after days and days in the war room with little sleep, or after a week in the field. It was worry, and stress. Things Dorian hated to see on Rúni’s fine features.  
  
“Josie, mostly. Turns out she’s really good at pretending you’re still here and with us. We’ve been taking care of things.” Dorian shrugged a little but had to look away, the twist in his gut impossible to ignore. A lot of stuff had been put off. Orlais was clamoring for the Inquisitor’s attention, and it was getting impossible to deflect them. He must have been transparent as glass because the look Rúni gave him was scathing at best.  
  
“Dorian…” Rúni sighed and squirmed a little, mostly freeing himself from Dorian’s hold. “Do I need to go speak to Josephine?”  
  
Dorian grabbed tighter, not wanting to let Rúni go so long as he could help it. “Stay with me for just a bit longer, please.” He looked up, but relaxed his grip once Rúni stopped trying to get away. “We’ll go see her together, I just…” He moved one hand to cradle the back of Rúni’s head in his palm, “I missed you, amatus.” He stroked his thumb over Rúni’s cheekbone and pulled him in a little for a soft kiss.  
  
Rúni kissed back, much more fiercely than Dorian had kissed him in the first place, desperation and sorrow in every bit of his frame.  
  
Dorian hummed, pleased, but broke away before too long. He moved his hand from the back of Rúni’s head to stroke the fine wisps of hair out of his face. Rúni leaned into the touch like a cat, his eyes closed with a brief flutter of his eyelashes. He leaned forward a little, body tensing with a shiver. “Are you still with me?” He asked, heart dropping into his stomach.  
  
After way too long, Rúni nodded. “They have some very nasty things to say about Tevinter, you know.”  
  
“Ah, well…”  
  
“But they like you, I think.” Rúni sat up more fully, staring down at Dorian with half-focused yellow eyes, his attention clearly split. Then he blinked and came back into focus. “Let’s go see what Josie has to tell me, and then maybe we can go for a walk around the keep together?”  
  
Dorian nodded. He let Rúni get out of his lap and stand, then stood himself, curling his hand around Rúni’s waist as they walked through the keep and into Josie’s office.  
  
She had her head buried in paperwork when they walked in, Rúni leaning on Dorian more than a little, obviously feeling weak. “Josie…” She jolted in surprise and lifted her head. “Inquisitor!” Josie sprang to her feet and made her way around her desk, taking Rúni’s free hand. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Tired. Have a bit of a headache. But I’m fine.” He didn’t look fine at all, though, and Josie gave Dorian a rather sharp look.  
  
“He wanted to come. If I had my way, he would be resting in bed.”  
  
Josie sighed. “We all know how he is, yes. Here, sit.” She dragged over one of the chairs from the small sitting area off to the side of her desk and Rúni sank into it, relief more than apparent on his face.  
  
“Dorian said there were things that needed my attention?”  
  
There was another sharp look and Dorian flinched, fixing his attention on his lover to distract himself from Josie’s rather intense glare. “Nothing we cannot handle.”  
  
It’s was Rúni’s turn for a stare, but this time it was turned on Josie instead of Dorian. “Josie…”  
  
She sighed and gave in quickly enough. “Fine. There are a dozen invitations to galas and balls  in Orlais, requests for meetings, requests for aid. We are handling what we can, but our excuses are no longer being taken well. The people need to see you, Inquisitor, they are clamoring for your attention.”  
  
Rúni let out a small groan. He started to drift but almost immediately came back to himself. “Accept a few of the invitations. The ones that would satisfy the most people. Get aid to the people who still need it, and deflect any requests for personal meetings.”  
  
Josie nodded. She turned back to her desk and picked up an envelope. “There is one more thing, Inquisitor.” She passed it over. “From Clan Lavellan.”  
  
Rúni sat upright at that and grabbed for the envelope. “How long have you had this?”  
  
“It arrived not hours ago.” Rúni tore into it, reading the elven within. It sent the voices in his head clamoring at all the differences between the elven they knew and the elven Rúni spoke and wrote. He ignored them and continued to read. “It’s…” He rubbed his forehead then continued. “An invitation. Every ten years, the clans meet up. Sort of like a reunion, or a party. I completely forgot it was coming. I have to go…”  
  
He looked up at Josie. “It’s in three weeks, and it lasts a month. I’m not going to be available.”  
  
Dorian blinked. “A month?” He looked to Josie, unsure if it could be done.  
  
“Where is it going to be?” The gears were already turning in her head, she was already making plans.  
  
“The Emerald Graves. Word got out about the Temple of Mythal and they want to see. Abelas has been travelling, has visited my clan even. Teaching the Dalish some of what we have lost to the ages. They all want to see.” Rúni folded the letter back up. He turned to Dorian. “Will you come with?”  
  
Dorian’s eyebrows went up. “Are you sure you want me there? I’m going to be the only non-elf there and a Tevinter mage to boot.”  
  
“If something goes wrong… I want you there. Plus, they’re my people, I want you to know them. I might not be able to ever go back to my clan, since the Inquisition still needs me, but…” Rúni looked up at him, a pleading expression on his face.  
  
“How could I say no to that?” Dorian smiled and leaned down to kiss Rúni gently. The kiss was meant to be simple and chaste, but Rúni grabbed to him and deepened it, to the point where, a few moments later, Josie coughed lightly, pink-faced.  
  
“I’ll start making plans,” she said simply, looking away.  
  
And of course the next three weeks passed in a blur. It was only a few days until the first of the balls Josephine had arranged for him to attend, and there was a lot to do - new formal garments to be drawn up, clothing packed, and a hundred other things Rúni was glad to have competent people to do for him.  
  
But one of the things only he himself could do was prepare one of his Harts for being used again. The massive Halla were intolerant of humans and horses at best so they were kept at the far end of a mountain valley in a lush green pasture with an elf caretaker. But not only was he riding one of the Harts, he was intending to gift the most handsome of them all back to his clan: the steely grey Hart that had come to Rúni only half-trained and had been worked until he was a flawless, perfectly reliable steed.  
  
He would do well to bring new blood back into his clan’s Halla’s bloodlines, an impressive stag who was docile as a kitten under Rúni’s hands and wildly uncontrollable under Dennet’s.  
  
But for travelling, it was better to have the older, more reliable Red Hart, a gift from another clan. Both would need to be tempered and guided back to form, with little time at all to do it.  
  
On the plus side, the voices were only too happy to sit back and not yell at him but rather simply talk or whisper, sometimes offering advice.  
  
In no time at all, all the balls and galas and appearances were taken care of, and he and Dorian were leaving Skyhold for the Graves. They would arrive a day early if all went to plan.    
  
Of course, Cullen was reluctant to let them go alone. He had insisted on a small group of soldiers to accompany them, elves all though no Dalish. Nothing Rúni could say about there being guards from among the clans despite the festivities would be heeded, of course.  
  
So it was him, and Dorian, and a dozen well-trained soldiers. Rúni had sent word to his clan that he would be attending, with Dorian, but the road was long and it was impossible to know if the messenger would even get to them, or find them.  
  
But while Dorian and Rúni could travel the main roads, the clans would be going more slowly, staying out of sight on their way. But about three miles out from the Temple, they finally caught up with a clan. Rúni signaled to Dorian and the soldiers to hold back while he loped ahead to the first Aravel, nodding in greeting to the elves he passed until he found the Keeper. Dorian watched him from a distance, unable to lip-read the conversation they were having and even if he could, he had a feeling they were speaking Elven, the way Rúni’s ears were twitching.  
  
Soon enough, however, Rúni turned back and cantered towards them. He turned in time to walk with them, his Halla tossing his head and nearly whacking Dorian’s horse in the neck with his antlers. “The Keeper says we can travel the rest of the way with them if we want, but the soldiers have to stay back behind the group.” He turned to look at the city elves, who were staring at the aravels in wonder. “C’mon, Dorian.”  
  
Rúni set off at a trot again and this time Dorian followed. “Are you sure it’s okay for me?”  
  
Rúni nodded and smiled. “Yes. I told them you were _lath_. The Keeper agreed, she said her First once had a human lover, and so has many of her people. This clan lives close to humans, mingles with them often and freely.” He called out greetings to the elves they passed this time, producing sweets from seemingly nowhere to toss to the children.  
  
Dorian stared at the candies knowingly. “Didn’t I buy you those? I had them delivered! And you’re just tossing them out?”  
  
At least Rúni had the grace to look guilty, ears pressing back against his hair. “They’re too sweet for me to eat more than one every few days, they were starting to go bad.”  
  
But soon enough they were at the front wagon again, and Rúni was chattering away with the Keeper in a truly fascinating mixture of Elven and the common tongue. He was grinning, ears wiggling back and forth in an extraordinary way - Dorian knew Rúni’s ears were incredibly mobile, but he had no idea they were so… agile.  
  
Suddenly the Keeper’s attention was on him. Her eyes were as green as the leaves of the trees around them, her vallasin a rich brown, nearly black. She told Rúni something that made him laugh and he turned his attention to Dorian. “Dorian, this is Keeper Abelard.”  
  
“Pleased to meet you, Keeper.” He bowed his head in greeting.  
  
“I had heard stories that the Inquisitor, one of the Da’len, had chosen to partner with a Tevinter, but I could not believe it until now.” She smiled, just a little, but the corners of her mouth were a bit tight.  
  
“Dorian is _lath_ , Keeper,” Rúni said gently. “I would not have brought him if I did not trust him. Dorian is actively working to change things in the Imperium.” Keeper Abelard continued to give Dorian an almost-suspicious stare (and Dorian wouldn’t even had realized it wasn’t suspicion if he hadn’t been so used to seeing it during all his time here in the South). “But Clan Abelard…” Rúni turned to look at the Aravels’ banners, He blinked and was suddenly far-eyed. There was no danger of him falling off, it seemed, but the Keeper’s eyes widened as Rúni went still.  
  
“He’s listening,” Dorian said gently. “There’s probably some elf in his head that knows something about your clan and it really needs to tell him.”  
  
“It’s true,” Rúni said distantly, continuing to stare at the fabric waving. He stared for a few more moments then said something in Elven that made the Keeper sit up straighter, eyes widening in surprise and shock. Then she brought her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.  
  
“ _Serannas, hren_. Thank you for telling me that. It is a comfort to know that although our gods have been lost to us thanks to Fen’Harel, our ancestors continue to watch over us.” The Keeper looked to be nearly reduced to tears, her First reaching in to comfort her.  
  
Rúni was distant for a few more moments before he came back to himself, shaking his head like he was clearing cobwebs.  
  
“What more do you know of our people? I would like to know.”  
  
But the second shake of the head was more forceful. Rúni said, voice a bit weak, “ _Abelas_ , Keeper. I have much to tell our people, so much. Many of your questions I will tell all, soon enough.”  
  
Dorian reached out to rest one hand on Rúni’s shoulder to steady him. “Are you alright?” He asked, leaning in worriedly. Rúni’s Hart let out a dissatisfied snort at the horse so close to it, but Dorian and Rúni both ignored it.  
  
“Yes, just…” Rúni blinked slowly. “Tired. I’m looking forward to getting to lay down soon.” He looked up at Dorian before he managed to steady himself. He turned to the Keeper. “I’m sorry, Keeper, but listening… takes a lot out of me. I hope you can forgive my reluctance.”  
  
“Do you want to ride with me?” Dorian asked worriedly, a bit afraid that Rúni wasn’t going to be able to block out the voices again. And if Rúni fell off his Hart and broke something Josie would probably summon fire to burn him with even though Dorian was fairly sure she didn’t actually possess any magic. Sometimes he wondered, at the speed and efficiency at which Josie did everything.  
  
Rúni shook his head, “No, I’m alright. I should… stay on by myself. Not that I’m going to be able to sit down for a while once we arrive. Too many people are going to want to talk to me.” He gripped the front of his saddle a bit more firmly than before, hands white-knuckled on the fine leather.  
  
Dorian nodded and let his horse step away from the Hart, trusting Rúni to be able to actually stay in the saddle. He did, after a few moments of rather dangerous swaying. The Keeper watched Rúni with careful, almost fearful eyes, like she too was afraid Rúni was going to fall to pieces in moments if she wasn’t carefully watching him.  
  
“There should not be many clans yet, I will talk to those that are there already, allow you a chance to rest. You have much to tell us, but nothing that cannot wait for you to be well enough to do so.”  
  
Rúni opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Dorian interrupted, “That would be wonderful, thank you, Keeper.” He leaned over, resting his hand on Rúni’s shoulder. “We’ve been travelling Orlais for three weeks, amatus. If you weren’t at a party you were in the saddle. We’re here to have fun too, not just have you talk all day, remember?”  
  
Slowly, the elf nodded, giving Dorian a small smile. “Yes… Alright. Thank you, Dorian.”  
  
Soon enough, they were arriving at the Temple - there were already aravels parked in little clusters - four or five clans already. Rúni led the way to another section and slipped out of the saddle. Only to grab tightly to it anyways. His face was pushed into the leather and he was breathing hard. Dorian could see the rise and fall of his chest from a dozen feet away.  
  
Dorian passed his horse’s reins to the nearest of the Inquisition soldiers and approached Rúni, resting his hands lightly on Rúni’s shoulders. “Amatus… I’ve got you, it’s okay. Turn to me, I’ll support you.” He scooped Rúni to his chest as soon as he turned, holding him up so his legs didn’t have to support his weight. “Why are you so weak?” he asked, feeling helpless.  
  
“I don’t know… When they were telling me about Abelard… I just felt so weak afterwards.” Rúni rested his head on Dorian’s shoulder, arms around his neck.  
  
“Are you hungry? Tired?”  
  
“I’ve been tired for three weeks… But I think I could maybe eat.”  
  
Dorian nodded and turned them both. He told the soldiers, “Put up the Inquisitor’s tent first. And build a fire. Don’t bother lighting it, I can do that.”  
  
There were already a handful of Dalish rushing over. Dorian tried to wave them away, but Rúni shook his head into Dorian’s shoulder and turned. The result was Rúni leaning against Dorian’s chest in an almost-casual way, Dorian’s arms around his waist to support him.  
  
Among the group were several adolescents, all without tattoos. They also all looked incredibly similar, which made sense if they were all from the same clan. But they looked at Rúni like he was the sun, which was so very similar to the way Dorian himself looked at Rúni.  
  
Still, despite his very obvious exhaustion - to the point that the adults were making motions to pull the younger ones back, Rúni managed a smile for them. “Hello, _da’len_.” He produced more candy from his pockets passing them out. The children, who had very likely never had much in the way of sweets even if their clan did trade frequently and openly with humans, took them with delighted giggles and stuck the candies in their mouths almost immediately.  
  
Dorian held open one palm without saying anything, his attention focused on watching the soldiers pitch the first of the tents - the largest too, fit for the Inquisitor - but smiled when he felt a little paper-wrapped candy drop into his own palm. He unwrapped it without letting go of Rúni and popped it into his mouth with a smile.  
  
The adult elves, though, were not so easily placated as the children, who ran off to play. Rúni clasped hands with them and greeted them each in turn, speaking to them quietly in elven. His ears were a bit droopy, but Dorian watched them go up and down and up and down, like Rúni was consciously struggling to get them to stay upright.  
  
Soon enough (but not soon enough for Dorian), the elves were gone and the fire was crackling away after Dorian had burst it into flames a few minutes before. Dorian helped Rúni sit on one of the stools they had brought with him and gratefully took both the water and the piece of dried meat Dorian gave him.  
  
He ate and drank obediently, shoulders slumped wearily. He blinked at Dorian then asked, extending out one foot, “Will you take off my boots for me, Dorian?” He was expecting a smart remark from Dorian, but instead, all he got was a smile and a nod and then those fingers, those hands that had seen so little work until his arrival at the Inquisition reached down for his foot. One hand cupped the back of his leg gently, squeezing lightly on his calf, and the other worked off the boot, setting it down in the grass lightly. Then Dorian removed the other and Rúni let out a small, soft sigh as he buried his toes into the half-trampled grass.  
  
He sighed happily, shoulders slumped as he looked up at the trees sheltering them. He was clearly listening to the voices, but was still working on the jerky and the water. Dorian reached over to touch his knee. “What are they talking about?”  
  
“They’re happy to be home… They’re happy that I’m here. They’re quiet. It’s nice.” Rúni smiled and looked over at Dorian.  
  
But then Keeper Abelard’s First approached them, a bowl held in his hands. “ _Hren_ …”  
  
Rúni turned, eyes going wide. “Is that…” The First smiled and nodded. “Keeper Abelard saw you chewing on that jerky… Asked me to bring you a bowl of the clan’s road food.” Rúni set down the jerky and water quickly and reached out for the bowl. Dorian leaned over curiously. The bowl was full nearly to the brim of something that looked a lot like oatmeal, but was a rich brown instead of pale. There were also chunks of something inside.  
  
Rúni took the spoon as well and stirred. He smiled at Dorian. “Lamb and rice and oats in a meat broth. Much better than salted meat and stale bread for on the road. A special vessel carries it in an aravel so it does not spill, and one of the clan’s mages keeps it hot.” He sipped at the broth, ears perking up. “Thank you, First.”  
  
He nodded and turned to leave after a small bow.  
  
Dorian leaned in, to stare at it. “It looks good,” he said finally.  
  
“Want to try some?” Rúni offered the bowl, but Dorian shook his head. “It’s for you, amatus. You need to eat, get your strength back up.”  
  
Rúni nodded and worked on the soup. While he did that, Dorian got to his feet. He didn’t wander far from their little encampment - the guardians of the Temple might be gone, but the woods were still full of elves and creatures alike. Neither of which would like him very much. A Tevinter mage, near a massive gathering of Dalish elves? It wouldn’t go over well at all.  
  
He only made it a little ways into the trees. Here, despite the army that had come through here not months before, they were still healthy, moss-covered. The bark was hard but forgiving under his hand. This whole place was saturated with magic. It was a magic he didn’t fully understand - for the magic elves wielded, the one that ran through their veins, wasn’t the same as what ran through his own - but it was magic. It prickled at his mind, curled around his thoughts. It was old, from the time before humans had ever arrived in Thedas.  
  
Again, it made him angry at his far-distant ancestors. That they would tear apart the elves, rip down Arlathan, was unthinkable. He loved his people, his home, and would never stop, but so much bad had also happened at their hands.  
  
He loved Rúni more than he loved anything else, but even he, the Inquisitor, would be far from safe in the Imperium. Dorian would never be able to show him where he had been born, the empire that he adored. Not truly, anyways.  
  
Dorian jumped when he felt a hand on his side and spun, but it was only Rúni. He was smiling and looked much more steady than before. Dorian banished the lighting that had sprung to his fingertips. “You scared me,” he said quietly, almost admonishingly.  
  
“I know. I’m sorry.” Rúni leaned in, pressing his lips against Dorian’s neck. “You know… this is the first time we’ve been alone in weeks.”  
  
Dorian smirked, pulling Rúni in closer. “I know… I think we should take advantage of it, don’t you?”  
  
Rúni looked over his shoulder. They could still see the aravels from here, as well as the cluster of Inquisition soldiers. Dorian could practically see the gears turning in Rúni’s head, considering, before the Inquisitor nodded and turned back to Dorian with a grin on his face. He reached down to take Dorian’s hand. After a brief moment, he said, “I know a place.” He stepped away then tugged Dorian into the trees.  
  
He led Dorian deeper into the Wilds, until they were in a tiny green clearing made by a pair of fallen trees. The clearing was heavily shaded, the fallen trees overgrown with moss and brush. A single August Ram was disturbed by them entering the clearing and it left with a bounding stride. “How did you know about this place?”  
  
Rúni smiled and turned to Dorian, slipping his arms around Dorian’s neck to pull him into a kiss. “That’s for me to know and for you to never find out,” he said.  
  
“Alright, I guess I can live with that,” Dorian said into Rúni’s mouth. He could taste the broth and the lamb on Rúni’s lips, the ever so slight spice in it he hadn’t smelled.  
  
Rúni’s mouth was almost addicting. He couldn’t stop kissing it, even as they turned, Rúni sitting on the trunk of one of the fallen trees.  
  
Eventually, though, Dorian found himself kissing his way down Rúni’s chest, hands slipping over his lover’s strong thighs, hitching Rúni’s knees up around his hips. Rúni hummed happily, letting his head fall back. He stared up at the sky filtered through tree leaves, his usually severe expression softened by the fact that they were alone and Dorian was still kissing his neck and chest. Dorian lifted his head a little without breaking away. Rúni’s yellow eyes were turned a soft gold in the sunlight, warm and welcoming instead of intimidating and harsh.  
  
He lifted his head fully, stopping the kisses. “Rúni…”  
  
“Dorian?” Rúni asked, not bowing his head to look at Dorian just yet.  
  
“You’re magnificent, you know.” That, at least, got a smile out of Rúni. “I mean, of course you know. You’re the Inquisitor. You saved the world from evil and all of that. But back there, with those elves…” Rúni finally focused his attention on Dorian and the overly-sharp gaze was infinitely more familiar than the sky-gazing of moments before. “You always seem to know exactly the right thing to say.” Dorian sighed a little and settled on his knees in the grass in front of Rúni, his hands running up and down Rúni’s calves gently. He finally had to look away from that intent stare, putting his face against the inside of Rúni’s thigh, near his knee.  
  
“How did I ever end up with somebody so perfect? What did I do to deserve you, Rúni?” The words were barely a whisper. But still, Rúni had big ears and he definitely heard, because he slipped his hands into Dorian’s hair, mussing up the careful styling.  
  
“I ask myself that every day, Dorian. How could somebody to perfect, so wonderful… How could you choose me, out of anybody in the world? You could have anybody you wanted, Dorian, and you picked a Dalish elf. We’re not supposed to be wanted. We’re pests, scum, remnants of a long-dead empire.”  
  
“Don’t call yourself that, Rúni. You’re not a pest.” Dorian smiled. “Well. Not unless you’re trying to get me up before sunrise to make a sweep of the keep.” Rúni chuckled and bowed his head, kissing the top of Dorian’s head. “I’m a Tevinter mage. You never had to accept me into the Inquisition, I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had tried to kill me. But… Instead, you accepted me. Made me a part of your inner circle.”  
  
“I almost didn’t. I wasn’t going to. I grew up hearing stories about why we never went north, even though there was more land and more food there. We didn’t want to get too close to the Imperium. We stayed close to the border between countries, but never got close to the Imperium. One of our scouts went missing, once. He wandered too close. We never saw him again. But Keeper was too afraid to send a search party too far, for fear of losing more to the Imperium.”  
  
Dorian was still, his head resting on Rúni’s knee. He had one hand curled around the back of Rúni’s calf, his other hand resting on the grass. There was nothing to say to that. ‘I’m sorry’ would mean nothing. It was likely the scout, if he hadn’t been willing to submit to life as a slave, to have his vallaslin tattooed over with true slave markings, had been killed. There were plenty of subservient elves in the Imperium, no time would be wasted on bringing another to heel. No doubt the scout had been used in some blood ritual and was long gone.  
  
“Rúni… This isn’t how I imagined this little jaunt into the forest would go, you know.” He turned his face so he could look at Rúni. He was staring off into space, but frowning slightly. “Rúni?” He lifted his head and Rúni started like he had completely forgotten Dorian was even there.  
  
“Sorry. I was just… thinking.”  
  
“Listening?”  
  
“No, thinking.” Rúni looked down at him with a small frown. He scraped his fingertips over the stubble at the sides of Dorian’s head and Dorian shivered slightly, eyes falling shut. “About what I’m going to say to my clan. My family. I haven’t seen them since before this all started. It’s hard to reach them with letters, since they’re always on the move. I’m going to see my mother. What’s… What’s she going to think of me? When I left, my vallaslin still burned upon my cheeks. Now, they’re… soft and warm.”  
  
Dorian sat up, moving so his forearms were resting on the tops of Rúni’s thighs. “Do you think she’s not going to love you?”  
  
“I’m worried she’s not going to love you, Dorian. I’m worried she will reject you, and will force me to choose. I can’t. I won’t.” Rúni stared at Dorian with despair, but he did lean into the touch when Dorian’s hands found their way to his cheeks. “When I was born, I was promised to Dirthamen. He is the god of secrets, of knowledge. My name means ‘secret lore’. It is why I was sent to the Conclave, why I wear Dirthamen’s mark upon my face. I was meant to be the next Keeper, to guide my clan, to teach and shape them. But then I never developed magic. I could never become First, or Keeper.”  
  
Dorian was still, staring at Rúni’s face in silence. He had never heard this before, he had never known. Rúni had always been rather secretive about his clan, Dorian had assumed for their safety, but this…  
  
“So I went to the Conclave when I was asked to. I was to learn all I could, to bring back that information to my clan. Instead…” Rúni shook his head a little and closed his eyes. “I learned so much more. I was Herald to a goddess I don’t believe in, one that did nothing to help my people. Then I was Inquisitor of a holy war, asked to make decisions that have affected all of Thedas. Me! A Dalish elf whose ink was still wet upon his cheeks. And when I had the chance to drink from the Well of Sorrows… to learn all that my people have lost, how could I not? I know you were mad at me for making that decision, for choosing myself over Morrigan, but how could I not? I had a chance to be who I was meant to be, all along.  
  
“And now I’m going to go talk to my people about the past, talk to my clan, my mother, about what we’ve lost. But I won’t be able to go back to them. I won’t be able to see the lands where I was born, where I grew up.” Rúni opened his eyes again and he stared at Dorian. Then he sighed. “Maybe all this worry is for nothing. My head hurts from the voices, and my heart hurts from the memories… I became who I was meant to be, who Mythal shaped me to be, but… At what cost, Dorian?”  
  
Dorian was silent, stunned. All his words had fled him. He had no idea what to say. “Amatus, I…” He stroked his fingers over the burnt-orange lines on Rúni’s cheeks, seeing them in a whole new light. “I cannot imagine your clan would reject you. They sent you off to learn, and you did. You may have changed your people, and the world, forever. If judging by how much time you’ve spent listening to the elves in your head is any indication, you have a lot to tell them.” The words sounded like nonsense to his own ears, but Rúni nodded and closed his eyes again.  
  
“Come on. Let’s get you back so you can lay down for a while and rest.” He stood slowly, half-expecting Rúni to resist. Instead, he got up, slipping his arms around Dorian’s waist firmly. Without his boots on, barefoot in the grass, Rúni was much shorter than Dorian, the top of his head only reaching Dorian’s mouth. So it was easy enough to kiss him there, then his forehead.  
  
The trek back to the camp was quiet, Rúni tucked under Dorian’s shoulder. The soldiers - some of whom had served directly under the Inquisitor - seemed a bit surprised that they were back so soon, but returned to pitching their own tents without comment.  
  
Rúni was only too happy to have Dorian’s help getting to bed and he laid down with a small sigh. He watched Dorian putter around the tent before sitting next to him.  
  
“So if you got your tattoos right before you left for the conclave…” Rúni hummed questioningly and looked up at Dorian. “I never asked… How old are you, even?”  
  
Rúni sat up a little, looking at Dorian in surprise. “You don’t know?”  
  
“If I knew, would I be asking? You said the ink was still wet, that your cheeks still hurt… Your people get your tattoos when you become adults, right?”  
  
“Yes, but.” Rúni sighed a little. “My ink was still wet because I had not yet proven myself to Dirthamen. My cheeks still hurt because I had not yet proven myself to my clan. I was that way for so much longer than is usual for my clan. Dirthamen is not as easy to please as Andruil is.” Rúni paused, thinking. “I think… twenty-one? Twenty-two?”  
  
“…That’s it?” Dorian was a bit flattened by the news. Rúni was so mature, it seemed so strange that he was so young. When Dorian had been that age, he definitely would not have been able to be Inquisitor. Or Herald, for that matter.  
  
“Is that a problem?” Rúni frowned, unsure of what the issue was, exactly. “Dorian, I… Age isn’t—“ It was clear he was thinking Dorian was distressed for a reason other than his apparent maturity.  
  
“It’s not age it’s… Kaffas, you’re young, but… No, don’t get up, you need to rest. I’m just… surprised that you’re so young and you still led the Inquisition. You’re… more mature than I would have thought it was possible to be, for how young you are.”  
  
“I’m not that young!” Rúni protested, sitting up fully anyways. “I started hunting as soon as my arms were strong enough to pull back a bowstring. I was weighing in on clan issues as soon as I got my tattoos three years ago.”  
  
Dorian shook his head. “It’s not… It’s not your age, amatus. I’m just… surprised, is all. I thought you were older.”  
  
Rúni huffed unhappily at Dorian, and swung his legs over the side of the cot. He resisted the hand Dorian put on his shoulder to get him to lay down. “I’m an adult, isn’t that enough?”  
  
“Of course,” Dorian said with a small sigh. He leaned in to kiss Rúni gently, one hand on Rúni’s knee and the other on the blankets next to his hip. Then he pulled away, relieved to see Rúni’s expression much more relaxed than before. “Now please. Get some rest.”  
  
Rúni reluctantly agreed and laid back down, letting Dorian tug the blanket up around his shoulders for him. “Will you—“  
  
“Yes, if your clan arrives tonight, I will let you know.”  
  
“And the—“  
  
“I’ll make sure the deer are taken care of, too.” Dorian sighed down at Rúni. “We’re here to have a party. Stop fussing so much. “  
  
Rúni sighed back but nodded. He closed his eyes, but Dorian stayed until the elf fell asleep - all the deep breathing in the world couldn’t make Dorian think Rúni was actually asleep when his ears were still wiggling in the way that meant he was thinking still. Scraping his fingertips over Rúni’s hair, Dorian lightly rubbed his scalp until finally Rúni let out a deep sigh and dropped off to sleep, body and face finally completely relaxing.

With Rúni asleep, Dorian rose. He walked to the opening in the tent and stood in the doorway. Dusk was falling, the clans settling down for the evening, their red and gold banners illuminated softly in the dying sunlight and the flickering flames of the campfires. It all seemed much too calm. But then, perhaps that was what they all needed, after what Thedas had just been through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lath: loved one, lit. "Love"  
> serannas, hren: thank you, honored one  
> abelas: sorry; lit. "sorrow"  
> da'len: young one, child (usually used as a term of endearment)


	2. Chapter 2

It was typical that when Dorian woke the next morning, he was alone, instead of comfortably snuggled up behind Rúni, even though he had fallen asleep with an arm over Rúni’s waist and wards up just in case.  
  
Of course Rúni managed to slip his wards, he thought grumpily. Of course he would have dreams in the middle of the Emerald Graves.  
  
Dorian sat up, already resigned to having to wake up the soldiers to very quietly find Rúni before the Dalish panicked about his disappearance. He scraped his hands through his hair then smoothed it down with a bit of magic.  
  
But before he could move to stand, he found himself faced with a tiny elven child. It was impossible to tell if the child was a boy or girl - they were too young to have any distinguishing features. Strawberry blond hair, pale skin, freckles, and incredibly striking yellow eyes. Rúni’s eyes, he realized with a start. “…Hello…” he said hesitantly. “How did you get in here?”  
  
They stared at Dorian for a moment longer then turned and ran out of the tent. She slipped his wards without tripping them. Dorian sighed and got up. He pulled on his cloak - the tent was warm, but outside was definitely not.  
  
He was glad his upper body was covered, though, because he almost tripped out into a mess of elves - Rúni at the center of them. He was animated, joyful, despite the very early hour. This was his clan - probably all of them.  
  
Dorian stayed in the open flap to the tent, just watching. He wasn’t going to interrupt this moment, but Rúni turned, the child from before clutching to his arms. “Dorian!” He grinned, ears perking up. “You’re awake!”  
  
“I’m awake,” he said dryly. “This must be your clan.” He made no attempt to move in, though, happy to stay back where he wasn’t intruding.  
  
“Yeah!” Rúni stepped through, the blond-haired child now standing with their bare feet on his. He moved close, pressing his forehead to Dorian’s, then a kiss to his lips. Dorian returned it briefly. “I shouldn’t bother you… You probably want to get reacquainted.”  
  
Rúni sighed a little, scooping the child into his arms fully. “I want you to meet my family, Dorian. And you’re not allowed to protest,” he said before Dorian could open his mouth to protest. “Please.”  
  
And how could Dorian refuse that soft stare, the elves all gathered behind Rúni. He sighed. “At least let me put some boots on.”  
  
Rúni grinned. “Alright. I’ll go with you.” He set the child down and they ran back into the group of elves. He turned and spoke a few words to him and they slipped away. He followed Dorian back into the tent. He tugged the flap shut firmly behind him, then stepped in to kiss Dorian, his hands coming up to hold Dorian’s face in both hands. “Thank you again for coming with me, Dorian.”  
  
Dorian grumbled. “It’s way too early. I need boots and a shave before I do anything. Especially meet your family.”  
  
“They don’t care what you look like, Dorian. We’ve all looked much worse.”  
  
“No, but I care.” Dorian sighed at Rúni softly and leaned in to kiss him. “Give me an hour, amatus. Surely you can amuse yourself for that long before you drag me out to meet every single elf in your clan?”  
  
“I guess,” he said with a teasing, lopsided grin. He stepped back, then sat on the edge of the cot. He was dressed casually, in clothing Dorian had never seen before. It was more like what the other dalish wore than anything Dorian had ever seen him in. He was used to the scale armor, the crimson metal and leather. He looked more slender, like this. Younger. Dorian wasn’t totally sure what he thought about it just yet, but it was entirely possible he liked it a lot. The loose tunic was bunched a little near his hips, the sleeves tight to his arms, the breeches also clinging rather deliciously - hours in the saddle had put more muscle back on his legs and back especially and it really showed.  
  
Dorian slipped off his cloak again and started to get ready, summoning water to a basin and fire to warm it. He lathered his cheeks and turned to look at Rúni while he did so. “Who was that kid?”  
  
Rúni turned to look at Dorian, eyebrows raised questioningly. Then comprehension dawned. “Oh. She’s uh. My sister.”  
  
“Your sister? I didn’t know you had siblings?” Dorian had thought he knew Rúni, but it turned out he knew nothing at all.  
  
“Yeah.” Rúni’s half-smile turned into a full grin. “She’s… When I left she couldn’t even stand. She’s so big now.” He curled his hands together in his lap. “Sunneva. She’s already been pledged to Ghilan'nain.”  
  
“And do all elves stay with the god they’ve been pledged to?” Dorian turned to his small mirror and got to work carefully shaving.  
  
“Not always. Most do. If an elven child isn’t suited to the god or goddess they’ve been pledged to, they’re able to change that in adolescence, but once their vallaslin is upon their face, the pledge is permanent. I could not leave Dirthamen to become one of Andruil’s hunters now, even if I wanted to.” Rúni moved to stand behind Dorian then crouched down. He was rather endlessly fascinated with shaving, as he didn’t grow any hair except on his scalp and his eyebrows, and Dorian knew he wasn’t the only one that got attention in the mornings while grooming. True, Varric was much less fastidious, only shaving to stubble and not down to skin, but Blackwall had a very nice array of brushes and combs and oils of his own, despite all his words about disapproving of Dorian’s habits.  
  
“So what exactly should I expect from your clan? Nobody seemed to immediately try to kill me, which is nice, but…”  
  
“Well they didn’t get the letter I sent to try to get to them before they got here so they didn’t know you were coming. I talked to them before you woke up and they’re not happy that I chose a Tevinter mage - and yes, I did try to explain that you aren’t a magister - instead of another elf, but. They’re going to have to get used to it. And it’s not like you’re going to be travelling with the clan anyways, so it doesn’t affect their day to day life. Most will be satisfied with that.” Rúni reached out to touch Dorian’s shaved cheek, not minding the lather still there. He stroked the back of his knuckles over Dorian’s face, feeling for any missed patches of hair.  
  
“Is attempted assassination going to be a problem? Should I be prepared at any moment for a knife in the back?”  
  
Rúni sighed and pulled his hand away. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable around the hunters until we’ve spoken to the Keeper. They know me, yes, but I haven’t been amongst them since before all this began. Some will think I’ve been swayed by humans, that I’m subservient to them.” He shook his head. “So many of us are entrenched in ways that are harmful to ourselves, and to our clans. Things they do or say are things I myself said or did, until I joined the Inquisition. Until I drank from the Well. It’s ignorance, that’s all, but it’s ignorance that must be eliminated before any real change can happen.”  
  
He stood, curling his arms around his waist. He walked back to the cot again, but didn’t sit. He instead stared rather pensively at Dorian. “I’m going to get us some breakfast,” he finally announced then left the tent.  
  
When he was gone, Dorian sighed softly and finished shaving, then wiped down his face with a towel. He banished the water from the basin then got up to dress for real. He decided that dressing in full battlemage gear wasn’t going to make him any less threatening, so he settled for the thick, reinforced padding, deep blue robes over them, held with a silver clasp at his shoulder. It wouldn’t stop a knife blade, that much was for certain. He would just have to use a barrier to cover his back, which wasn’t all that much of a problem for Dorian - he would say this for generations of Tevinter inbreeding: he certainly had no shortage of magic to draw from.  
  
Dorian slipped on his boots just in time for Rúni to come back with breakfast - a tray with two chipped metal travel mugs and two bowls of the traditional Fereldan breakfast: oatmeal that was little more than slop and a hard crust of bread. Still, Dorian ate without complaint and gulped down the tea. Rúni, though, ate much more slowly, still apparently lost in thought. “When I was out there… I thought I saw a wolf in the trees.” He turned to look at Dorian. “But when I pointed it out, nobody else could see it. I’m not sure why, it was perfectly white, it was completely visible.”  
  
“A hallucination?”  
  
“It must be?” Rúni looked at Dorian, unsure. “But the soldiers were talking to me normally, not dismissing me… It seems so odd that I could see it and they couldn’t. Not even the mage could see it.” He shook his head after another moment. “Hopefully I’m just tired and not going crazy. That’s all we need. Some dalish would say it’s an omen. A white wolf is Fen’Harel’s symbol, a sign of foreboding. A bad omen.”  
  
“What did your voices have to say about it?”  
  
“Nothing, actually. They weren’t sure what to make of it, either.” Rúni frowned then took a sip of his tea.  
  
He turned when the tent flap opened. Sunneva was standing there. She moved towards Rúni with a wary eye on Dorian, then crawled into her brother’s lap, little arms finding their way around his neck. Rúni held her close. “What’s the matter, da’len?” He set aside his bowl, turning his head to put his ear closer to her mouth. She whispered something to him and he turned to smile. “Is that so?” He looked up at Dorian. “Who told you that?” Again, she whispered into his ear. “Well, Dorian is no _elgar_.” Rúni rose, Sunneva still in his arms. He approached Dorian and she went very still, eyes wide. Rúni reached out to touch Dorian’s face and he sat still for the treatment, letting Rúni touch his face, his cheek. “See, da’len? He is warm, like I am. He is no spirit.”  
  
Dorian gave Rúni a worried look. Rúni knew that demons possessing people still had warm bodies, tangible forms, but it was unlikely Sunneva knew that.  
  
Sunneva shook her head, though, and pressing her face into Rúni’s shoulder. She clung to him, little fists tight in his tunic. “Do you want to touch him? I promise he won’t bite.” Sunneva shook her head again.  
  
Dorian shook his head. He didn’t want to force the issue, as much as he wanted Sunneva to not be afraid of him.    
  
“You know humans, Sunneva. And you know mages. Mother is one. Dorian’s just a human mage with some funny hair on his face.”  
  
Rúni sighed at Dorian a little, but Sunneva was still unwilling to even look at Dorian, too shy or too scared. Rúni tried to set Sunneva down but she continued to cling, whining when he tried to peel her off of his chest. “Sunneva… Why don’t you go play? There are plenty of children to play with.”  
  
“No, Rúni… Mamae…” Sunneva turned her face towards the opening of the tent just in time for it to open, yet again.  
  
But the person that stepped inside the tent was somebody Rúni wasn’t ready yet to face.  
  
He swallowed, hard. “Mamae…”  
  
Dorian got up as well, standing behind Rúni protectively, one hand reaching out to touch his back.  
  
The woman that was inside the tent now was so obviously Rúni’s mother. She had Rúni’s auburn hair, drawn up into a braid pinned to her head, wearing a tunic and robes not unlike Rúni himself. Her skin was lighter than her son’s, weather-hardened. She was also faintly frowning. “Rúni,” she said quietly. Sunneva wiggled until Rúni set her down and she immediately ran to her mother, pushing her face into her legs. “Go play, darling,” she said and Sunneva left without another protest. Then she stepped forward, hands finding their way to Rúni’s shoulders. She hadn’t looked at Dorian yet and still didn’t. Instead, she pulled her son to her chest and embraced him. “I missed you.”  
  
“I missed you too, mamae.” But he pulled back a little, hands cupping his mother’s elbows gently. He turned. “Dorian, this is my mother. Mother… Dorian.”

“Ah yes. Dorian Pavus. A Tevinter magister. I heard my son had chosen you as his mate, but I didn’t want to believe he would be so foolish.” She looked at Dorian at last and Dorian was suddenly aware of the surge of magic. Before he could raise his own to defend himself, it was smashing into him full-force, like a tidal wave or a sandstorm.  
  
The last thing he heard before the sheer force of magic swept over him was Rúni’s voice, raised to a shout of his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elgar: spirit, demon  
> mamae: mother
> 
> I'm really on a roll right now. I have a few things planned out, but I'm probably not going to have another chapter out tomorrow. I really wanted to get through this bit, because boy is Rúni's mother a bit of a doozy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote all but about 400 words of this on less than 3 hours of sleep so it might be a bit... incoherent. Also I haven't gotten like any feedback on it at all, I was so eager to get it out I couldn't even sit around and wait!

_“Are you sure about this, Dorian?”_

_“As sure as I’m ever going to be, I think.” Dorian swallowed hard, then looked up at Cullen. He was sitting on the edge of a rather large, comfy chair, Cullen in front of him, his arms folded over his chest. “Might as well get this over with, Commander.”_

_“There are templars here with more ability than me right now. I haven’t taken lyrium in months, I’m not sure how strong I’m going to be.”_

_“If there’s an ex-Templar I’m going to trust to take away my magic temporarily, it’s going to be you, Commander.”_

_“There are many qualified men and women I trust—“_

_“But not any that I trust. Please.” But Dorian still leaned away when Cullen stepped in closer. He swallowed hard and resisted the urge to raise his defenses, to protect himself against whatever was coming._

_Cullen reached out a hand but as he did so, even though he didn’t touch Dorian, Dorian could feel his magic starting to bleed away, very quickly. Within seconds, Dorian was left reeling, panting from the loss. It was like he couldn’t even think anymore. Dorian’s magic had manifested when he was eight years old. For two decades he had used it daily, all day._

_He stared up at Cullen, who was watching him closely, hand still extended._

_Dorian had thought he would still be able to access his magic, just that it would be weak. But it was like it was gone completely. His connection to the Fade was smothered. He knew it wasn’t broken, because he wasn’t Tranquil, but it was still disconcerting._

_He opened his mouth then said, weakly, “Stop, please.”_

_Cullen stopped, eased Dorian’s magic back into him instead of letting it flood back to cause even more shock. “Are you alright?” He stepped forward to steady Dorian and gripped his shoulders tightly to keep him from falling over. “Remember to breathe, Dorian.”_

_Dorian nodded and kept breathing. He called fire to his fingers first, then frost, then lightning sparks. He was afraid to speak, worried about how much his voice would shake._

_Finally he said, “My curiosity always gets the better of me. Thank you for indulging me, Commander.” He closed his eyes and leaned into Cullen’s grip, glad for that firm hold to keep his shoulders from shaking as much as his voice._

He woke up with a start. 

Dorian could hear yelling, but it was distant and faint, like was underwater. He opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the underside of the tent. He was laying in grass, could feel the tips of the blades touching his ears. He blinked, tiredly, and turned his head, feeling like the morning after a fight with a dragon. But not only was his body exhausted, his magic was as well. It was nothing like the memory of it completely suppressed by Cullen, but more like an enormous weight pressing down on that part of him, making it nearly impossible to flex his magic at all. 

All he wanted to do was sleep. He wasn’t sure if it was magic or just having hit the ground, but he thought it might be the magic from Rúni’s mother. 

Still, he made himself keep his eyes open, even if caring enough about the yelling going on to actually listen was beyond him. He made a small noise, hoping to attract Rúni’s attention. The ground was hard and no doubt all his clothing was grass-stained by now. 

But it seemed to work because within moments, Rúni was crouched over him. “Dorian? Are you awake?” 

He nodded and groaned. “I feel as if I’ve been stomped flat by a giant.” 

Rúni made a noise almost like a laugh but a bit more choked then nodded. “Probably. Mother is a very strong mage.” He looked up, probably at said woman then told her, “We’ll talk later.” It was the dismissive tone of the Inquisitor, one that meant that he didn’t like what he had just learned and he wanted you to know it. It was Dorian’s favorite tone, provided it wasn’t directed _at_ him. 

But all she said was, “I’ll be outside,” and then the tent flap opened and shut. Rúni sighed, shoulders slumping. Then he looked back down at Dorian. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I don’t think I can move…” Dorian blinked up at Rúni but didn’t protest when the elf pulled him into a sitting position. The world swam around him - had he hit his head on the way down? - But he managed to keep down his breakfast, barely. All he could do was lean heavily on Rúni as his arm was pulled around slight shoulders and he was leveraged upright.. His legs held him long enough for him to be deposited onto the bed and he sighed weakly. “She managed to overpower me. I didn’t even have time to react.” Dorian dropped his head into his hands. 

“Is she your clan’s Keeper?” 

“No. But it’s complicated.” Rúni rubbed his hand over Dorian’s back gently, his other hand moving to straighten his hair. Dorian flinched and Rúni jerked away with a quiet noise. “She said she wanted to talk to me without you present.” 

“And I couldn’t just leave the tent, she had to knock me out with pure magic?” He hadn’t thought it possible. He was warded against magical attack, his mind safeguarded against possession and attack from other mages. He didn’t think it could happen. “I know I’m from Tevinter, but talk about overkill.” Now that he was sitting up and awake and aware, his head was starting to pound fiercely. Just the thought of standing and going outside made him feel sick to his stomach. 

He put his palms to the sides of his head, but with his magic still muffled he couldn’t cast the single healing spell he knew. “Have any elfroot on you? I have a headache.” Dorian slipped one hand to the back of his skull, but it seemed his head was still in one piece, so hopefully it was just a combination of Rúni’s mother’s magic and hitting the ground. 

“I’ll make you some tea,” he said after a moment. He rose and picked up one of the cups from the breakfast tray. Then Rúni left the tent and Dorian was alone for at least a little bit. He sighed and bent forward, forehead resting on his knees. He was grateful for the enchanted fabric the tent was made of. It meant he got to sit in silence without having to worry about his headache getting worse. 

He curled his hands into fists, gripping his hair gently, and tried to work his magic. It was more than simple overexertion, like the result of too many enemies fought in too short of a time. Rúni’s mother was outside and obviously still suppressing him. And he was helpless to do anything about it. He couldn’t stand or fight, he was so weak and so sick, and he couldn’t fight Rúni’s mother anyways, not here. He was at her mercy. 

Dorian really hoped Rúni would be able to talk some sense into her. Or at least talk her into stopping the mind-whammy. 

He wasn’t sure how long, exactly, he sat there hunched over on himself, his arms pulled snug around his head, but he definitely wasn’t feeling any better. Dorian didn’t react until he felt a hand on his back and he lifted his head to look up at Rúni. He looked weary and nervous, face pinched up and his ears tucked in tight against his head. He held the mug in his hand - it was steaming faintly and Dorian could smell elfroot. 

And, behind him, standing against the wall, was his mother. “Rúni, I’d rather not… I have a massive headache and your dear mother is suppressing my magic.”

“It was not my intention to overwhelm you,” she said, stepping forward. As soon as she did, Dorian leaned back warily, staring up at her. Without magic, he was essentially helpless. He had never had to physically protect himself before - in the Imperium, there had been nobody capable of taking his magic, and here anybody that tried he could just light on fire. He had never learned how to use a weapon other than a mage’s staff. But she stopped, raising her hands in a placating gesture. 

Rúni sat next to Dorian and offered the mug. “Mother…” 

“My son has managed to convince me that you do not have him under a spell. Which I admit is a relief. But I do not trust you. And I would not allow you to use magic until I can.” 

Dorian took the mug and stared down at it for a few moments. “And what makes you think I want you anywhere near me? Rúni, send her out.” 

“Allow me to heal your headache first.” 

Rúni hesitated, obviously torn. “Dorian, why don’t you let her…” 

“No.” He took a sip of the tea. It was bitter despite the honey Rúni had spooned into it, but it would work in a few minutes. Hopefully. 

“Dorian!” 

“Are _you_ under her spell, Rúni? I said no.” He looked at Rúni - or, more precisely, squinted. 

Rúni sighed and nodded. “Alright. Drink your tea.” 

That, at least, was something they could agree on right now. Dorian drank the tea and while he did, Rúni started running his hands up and down Dorian’s back gently. It was soothing, despite everything. Over the months of their relationship, it seemed that Dorian had been conditioned to respond to Rúni’s touch, whether it was when they were in bed, Rúni a panting, writhing mess under him, or on the field fighting demons, or those rare lazy days where Rúni had nothing to do so he spent it curled up in the library with Dorian, or in bed together all day. 

He arched his back into the touch and Rúni’s fingers were instantly finding the knots, thumbs pressing into the muscle then smoothing it out. Normally Rúni’s touch would have Dorian melted into a puddle in his lap by now, but instead, with Rúni’s mother in the room he stayed tense and unhappy. 

Fifteen minutes passed in silence and finally, _finally_ , the elfroot started to take effect, dulling the skull-cracking pain down to a simple bash over the head with a pole. He closed his eyes and sighed, then opened them and lifted his head to stare at the elf mage still standing on the other side of the tent. She seemed unfazed by the amount of magic she was using on him, though he had the feeling that once she had managed to push down his magic it would be easy to keep that way - he didn’t have the strength to fight back, so she was using less of her own to subdue him. 

He set the mug down at his feet then rubbed his face with both hands. “First of all, what’s your name, even?” 

“I am Csilla. And before you ask, no I am not Keeper. It is not a title I desired, so it is not one I pursued. I am a healer, first and foremost.” 

“A healer?” Dorian glanced over at Rúni, but he simply shrugged. 

“Yes. Where many mages merely dabble, able to heal scrapes or headaches while focusing their attention on causing harm, I seek to heal larger hurts. One that would kill a normal mortal. I seek a way to end death for my people, to make the Elvhen back into what they were before the shemlen, before your people, destroyed them.” She folded her arms over her chest. 

Dorian stared at her in shock then turned to Rúni, unsure if this was a joke. Then he turned back, “You can’t make people immortal. Especially if they’re not mages. You think the Imperium hasn’t tried?” 

“I’m not talking blood magic, shem. It has its uses, yes, but the Elvhen did not die because they got sick. They died because of human influence on them. They died because the Dread Wolf tricked the gods and goddesses into locking themselves away. I would have the Wolf brought to heel, his work undone.” 

Dorian’s eyebrows went up. “You can’t be serious. What’s your plan? How do you know that your gods even still exist?” 

“Thanks to Rúni, I know for certain, though I have never doubted. He spoke with Mythal himself.” Dorian turned to look at Rúni, who stared back at him resolutely. 

“So you’re using your son in your hare-brained scheme.” 

Rúni sighed. “Let’s talk about something else.” He reached out to take Dorian’s hand. “Mamae, Dorian is my partner. I’ve chosen him.” 

Csilla’s eyes narrowed at Rúni. “You are doing this to spite me. You are angry that I did not send you out sooner.” 

“No. I’m not trying to spite you. Mamae, I… I love Dorian. And I am an adult. My relationships are my own and though I would love your approval, he is mine.” Dorian felt his face flush at the proclamation. A year ago, Dorian couldn’t have possibly ever imagined himself here. Not only with a man, but a dalish elf at that, who was proudly proclaiming Dorian as his with no shame in his voice. “And I am his, and I don’t care what you have to say about me saying that.” Dorian squeezed Rúni’s hand, staring at him helplessly. 

“I should have kept you in the clan. There were others that I should have asked Keeper to send in your place.”

“And if they had died at the Conclave? You wouldn’t know about Mythal, and the Breach would still be in the sky! You will not have to worry about seeing him, he will not be travelling with the clan, because I won’t be. I’m still Inquisitor, there’s a lot I need to do. I came here to teach my people and see you and Sunneva again, not to have to prove myself to you. If you cannot accept my choices as an adult, then I do not wish to see you any longer.” 

Rúni’s hand was shaking. Dorian knew how much this must be hurting him. Family was so much to Rúni and him turning away from his mother had to hurt. “I trust Dorian. I love him. He’s _lath_ , mamae.”

Csilla watched them for several moments. “I am not able to sway your mind, I see. Dirthamen has spoken to you. You have proved yourself to him, and are no longer bound to me as my child. You are an adult. I cannot accept your choice of partner, Rúni.” She shook her head. “We will speak later of what you have learned from the Well.” 

“You will have nothing from me until you can accept my decision and my partner truly and deeply. Think long and hard, Csilla, I have nothing more to say to you.” 

She stared at Rúni in something approaching shock, but instead bowed her head. “ _Dareth shiral_.” Then she turned and left. As the tent flap closed again, the pressure on Dorian’s mind eased at last. He breathed heavily in relief and turned, pulling Rúni in closer to him. 

Rúni was only too glad to be pulled close and he buried his face in Dorian’s shoulder. “If she cannot accept you, then I do not want her.” 

Dorian stroked his hand over Rúni’s hair. He couldn’t say he wasn’t disappointed. He himself had left his family because of what they would have done to make him straight, complacent. Rúni had made an ultimatum: Dorian or nothing. And while Dorian appreciated the sentiment, he would also do anything to have his family again. “You made a very tough decision, amatus.” Rúni nodded slowly then turned his head so his face was in Dorian’s neck instead. Dorian could feel hot tears on his skin and he clutched Rúni tighter. It was just about all he could do. 

“Why don’t we lay down for a while? How does that sound?” Rúni nodded into Dorian’s neck and together they maneuvered until they were laying down again, their bodies curled together easily. 

But as they laid there, Dorian felt Rúni slip back into listening. He went still, the tremors bleeding out of his shoulders, his face going slack. 

Dorian sighed and clutched Rúni closer still. “Don’t forget to come back to me, amatus. If you leave me here by myself I’m not going to be very happy with you.” He kissed Rúni on the temple then closed his eyes, hoping to sleep off the rest of his headache as long as he had the chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dareth shiral: farewell, lit. "Safe journey"
> 
> ~
> 
> Rúni: "Secret lore"  
> Sunneva: "Sun-gift"  
> Csilla: "Star"
> 
> Rúni and Sunneva are Icelandic names, while Csilla is Hungarian. (At least, they are according to the baby name site I used)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a bit agonized about where I wanted to end this chapter, which was why I took so long to get it out. (it's been 98% finished for more than a day)
> 
> Also, heed the new tags! Rating has gone up as well! (I wasn't planning on this, but they insisted, so...)

Dorian was surprised to wake up with Rúni still in his arms. He didn’t think he’d been asleep very long, but Rúni was aware. Very aware. He had one hand on Dorian’s chest and another working its way down into his breeches. His robes had already been opened and Rúni’s deft fingers were pulling at his smalls. 

Dorian shifted in surprise and leaned back so he could look at Rúni better. “Well. This is a surprise.” 

Rúni grinned up at Dorian. “Is it? I thought you liked waking up like this?” He pushed his fingertips into Dorian’s chest, nails biting in ever so slightly. 

“I never said I didn’t.” He moved his hands to Rúni’s hips, finding warm, soft skin there. Moving his left hand back, he felt the thick scar just below his kidneys where Rúni had taken a knife and nearly scared Dorian to death in the process. Rúni hummed and smiled, “I guess you didn’t, did you?” 

It was then that Rúni finally managed to get into Dorian’s small clothes. Normally it wouldn’t be such an issue, but with only one hand and them lying on their sides… it had taken some time. He took Dorian in hand and Dorian gasped. Rúni grinned wickedly and didn’t pull his punches, immediately smoothing his thumb up and over the head. Instantly Dorian arched his back. “Maker’s Breath,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut. 

“Roll,” Rúni said and Dorian obeyed, turning onto his back. He pulled at his robes, fumbled at the clasps until he got off the material. But with Rúni sitting on his legs, he wasn’t going to be able to get his pants off. And anyways, Rúni was stroking him to full hardness, his hand working perfectly on Dorian’s cock. 

He watched Rúni, perched on top of him. He looked fairly disheveled now that Dorian was seeing him better. His hair was down, hanging around his shoulders and extremely messy. His tunic was rucked up around his hips, his feet dark with dirt and mud. He also had a slightly wild look in his yellow eyes. 

But then Rúni circled his thumb over the head of his dick and Dorian was lost to the pleasure. He eagerly leaned up to kiss Rúni, burying his fingers in Rúni’s hair just behind his ears. He rolled his hips into the hand around him, letting the pace be decided upon by his lover. Which he almost instantly decided was a bad idea for the simple fact that Rúni seemed determined to torment him - every time he started to climb towards the peak of his orgasm the hand stopped. He groaned unhappily and broke the kiss so he could meet Rúni’s eyes again. “You’re determined to torment me, aren’t you, amatus?” 

Rúni grinned, his hand not occupied with Dorian’s dick sliding down his chest. He gripped Dorian’s hip hard enough to bruise, thumb digging in. Then he lowered his head and stopped his stroking to instead kiss the wetly gleaming head of Dorian’s cock, tongue darting out briefly. 

Dorian let out a curse and his body arched up, but Rúni was holding him down firmly by that hand on his hip and also the hand at the base of his shaft. Dorian called Rúni a series of very unpleasant things in Tevene with all the love in his voice he could muster - yes, Rúni was driving him crazy, but in exactly the way Dorian loved. He relinquished control of the situation to his lover, doing his best to keep his hips still as now that hot, wide-lipped mouth was starting to work him with plenty of attention paid to the head, fingers continuing to work his shaft. 

“Is this your plan?” He asked, voice a bit strained. “For all the rumor mill about me stealing your soul, this is how you’re going to take mine, aren’t you? You’re going to suck it out through my dick.” That got a grin he could feel without having to look down. 

Rúni pulled his mouth off of Dorian’s cock with a slight slurping noise and when he lifted his head, his lips were swollen and redder than usual. He grinned at Dorian then returned to his task, this time not bothering to edge Dorian closer and closer to his peak. Instead, when Dorian let out a smothered cry, Rúni swallowed him down. 

Dorian’s come on his lips, Rúni cleaned him off thoroughly and diligently before he sat back to lick his lips. He stared down at Dorian with a smile then carefully tucked him back into his underwear and breeches. “I should go talk to my people. I want to start teaching them. Most of the clans have arrived by now.” 

“Looking so debauched? What would they say?” Or maybe, Dorian thought to himself, What would Csilla think was the more important question. Dorian knew the feeling of getting back at his father after an argument. It had only ever made things worse.

But Rúni hummed and shrugged. He got up and headed for the low table that held their grooming supplies - well Rúni’s brush and Dorian’s grooming supplies. He started to work the brush through his hair and drew it up into a tail again. It was getting long even up, grazing the collar or his tunic now. 

Dorian finally managed to find the strength in himself to prop himself up on his elbows and he did. “Do you want me to go with you?” He reached for his robe and sat up all the way as he started to pull it on. He managed the buckles with weak fingers and stretched his magic, glad that it was responding properly to him again, apparently no worse for wear after what Csilla had done to it. 

“I would like it if you did. Even if it was just to bring me out if I listen too hard.” 

“Nobody can bring you out if you listen too hard, amatus. All I can do is wait and hope that it’s not permanent.” 

Rúni grimaced and looked away, adjusting his sleeves. 

“Are you sure you want me to go? It’s just going to make it harder on them.” 

“I want you to know my people, Dorian, and you can’t do that if you stay cooped up in this tent all day. I woke up before you did, and I went on a walk.” 

“And you must have fallen down a hillside, to get your hair like that.” 

Rúni laughed and grinned. “No, I climbed a tree and had a very upset mother bird attack me.” 

Dorian shook his head then stood. He promptly had to adjust himself in his breeches with a grimace. “Move.” He took Rúni’s seat and set about smoothing his hair and mustache back into place. He was definitely tired after that toe-curling orgasm, but they’d spent plenty of time in bed already, and they had come here to do more than laze around all day wrapped in each other. As tempting as it sounded. 

Rúni settled on his haunches near the door, one hand touching the ground in front of him to steady himself. He glanced between watching Dorian get ready and the world outside - the clans mingling and talking, speaking to friends they saw rarely or only ever at these gatherings. Trading was happening as well and there was a little cluster of elves outside the pen his Harts were kept in. No doubt their studding services would be put to good use during their time here. 

He sighed a little. He’d been here twice before - once when he was too young to remember, and the more recent time, he had just started on the path to pledging himself to Dirthamen. Without magic it had been a tough one - Keepers were reluctant to share the darker bits of elvhen history with anybody other than their Firsts, and certainly not to a boy whose voice still had not cracked. “My people are less scared than they’ve been in a long time, Dorian. Seeing me in the position that I am… I mean, the Inquisition has an army nearly as big as Orlais’s, and some people tell me I have as much power as Empress Celene or King Alistair. Which, I don’t know about that.” He shrugged then scratched the back of his neck. 

“But they know they can rely on me to protect them, if need be. Maybe things aren’t changing in Alienages just yet, but the Keepers I have spoken to so far say that they’re encountering less violence on the whole from humans. They’re getting less cheated during trades, allowed freer roam in the forests and mountains…

“For the longest time, I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing. I mean, I’m still not sure, not really. But…I feel like I’m headed in that direction, y’know? Dirthamen isn’t only the god of knowledge, he also taught us to be loyal to our families, our people. And that, more than anything…” 

Rúni trailed off when he realized Dorian was staring at him. “What?” 

Dorian shook his head. “You’re different, when you talk like this. When you talk about your people… your face gets all soft and you’re… not as tightly wound.” Because Rúni was always tightly wound. Something dire was always happening, some urgent matter to attend to. At the height of the Corypheus panic Rúni hadn’t slept more than a few hours at a time and even then only when he couldn’t stand from exhaustion or multiple members of his inner circle made him go to bed. 

“I’m not tightly wound!” Rúni protested, sitting up straighter, shoulders going back. 

“Oh, you’re definitely tightly wound.” Dorian shook his head a little. He got up and crossed to Rúni then offered down a hand. Rúni took it and stood, immediately pressing close to Dorian. Underneath the smell of tree sap and dirt, Dorian could smell himself. He pulled Rúni in against his chest. One arm around Rúni’s waist, he used his other hand to pull down the collar of his shirt. 

Rúni tipped his head back obligingly, seeming to understand and let out a small hum of approval. He let Dorian nuzzle over his neck and chest before finally he chose a spot just above Rúni’s collarbone, near his shoulder. It would be hidden by Rúni’s tunic, unless he started pulling at it. Dorian kissed the spot first and got another hum, so the next kiss he turned into a gentle bite. Rúni didn’t bruise particularly easily, or maybe it was hard to see on his skin tone, but Dorian was definitely going to find a way to make his mark visible. 

He sucked gently as he bit down, then let go so he could run his tongue over the spot, soothing the hurt of the bite. Rúni’s approving hum deepened slightly, went from curious to downright aroused. Still, he stood still as Dorian made the mark bigger and darker, before he finally laid a trail of kisses up Rúni’s neck. He bit gently on Rúni’s earlobe and tugged, receiving an actual moan that time, Rúni’s head tilting down and to the side a little. 

Dorian had never had a chance to test out his theory that elf ears were sensitive, as he had only ever had the chance to play with Rúni’s, but he knew it also didn’t really matter all that much: Rúni’s ears were the only ones he wanted to play with. He moved his mouth up to the pointed tip and drew it into his mouth gently. 

“Dorian…” Rúni’s voice was strained, his hands on Dorian’s hips. He squeezed down and though his shoulders were tense he wasn’t pulling away. “If you keep doing that, we’re never going to leave the tent.” 

As much as Dorian wanted to say ‘Good, let’s stay’, he knew they couldn’t. He stepped back a little and looked down at Rúni with a smirk on his face. “C’mon, let’s go.” He reached down to take Rúni’s hand in his own then tugged him out of the tent. 

There were elves everywhere, moving freely, either in groups or pairs. Dorian stopped, and almost instantly he and Rúni had drawn the attention of the closest of the Dalish. Rúni smiled and stepped in front of Dorian. He reached out with his other hand for the nearest elf and they moved closer in return. Rúni clasped her hand firmly and asked her, “Would you like to see the temple?” He glanced to the temple behind them, where no elf had yet dared to go. 

Her eyes went wide and she nodded. “Yes! Yes, _hren_ , I do, I…” She swallowed hard. “Just me?” 

Rúni shook his head, “No. Tell your clan, your friends. I would like to show you all some of what we have lost. Tell them. I will be waiting at the gates.” He pulled his hand away and pointed towards the closed gates to the temple - ones that the Inquisition had installed to keep the temple safe since its guardians had gone. 

She nodded and turned, hurrying between groups. 

Rúni led the way up to the front of the gates, tugging at Dorian’s hand. “I’m probably going to be listening a lot, but I’ll try to stay aware, too.” 

Dorian nodded and leaned in, pressing his face against the top of Rúni’s head. “I think if you fall over while you’re in there you’re going to have about a hundred elves rushing in to help you.” 

“You’re the only one I want to catch me if I fall, Dorian.” Dorian grinned and was glad to scoop Rúni close to his chest and hold him. Dorian, despite all his exuberances, was easy to please when it came to Rúni. He was happiest with his lover in his arms, their limbs tangled up together happily. Even like this, with a growing crowd of Dalish watching them, it was soothing. 

Still, Rúni did finally pull mostly away (but never ever did he let go of Dorian’s hand) and turned to address his kin. It was probably most of the clans - the children and the elderly would be staying behind, as well as guards and those that were injured or sick or taking care of others or the various animals kept by each of the clans. 

Rúni just smiled at them then said, his voice just barely raised but enough to carry, “Welcome to the Temple of Mythal. Andaran Atish’an.” Dorian opened the gates with a flick of perfectly timed magic and Rúni turned to lead the way inside, tugging Dorian along behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick one today. I haven't been feeling all that great, and I felt like this could stand on its own.

It wasn’t until late that night that Rúni got to walk the grounds of the temple alone. He and Dorian had spent all afternoon and most of the evening showing the Dalish around the Temple until they’d been called back by their clans - dinner and spending time with the clan was important too, so they had gone. 

Rúni had eaten dinner with Dorian and the soldiers (his mother still forcing him away from his clan’s aravels - for now, Keeper wasn’t going to keep him away for much longer) then had headed back into the Temple alone. 

The halls were dimly lit, even though there were no windows and Rúni carried no torch. Some trick of old elven magic, the voices whispered. Light held in the glass, in the metal, a part of the very substance. Dorian had marveled it on their first trip here, but hadn’t had time to linger. Soon, he would be able to put his greedy fingers to the wall as much as he liked, but for tonight, Rúni was completely alone here. 

He wandered, but somehow wasn’t surprised to find himself at Fen’Harel’s shrine. He ignored the angry voices in his head and moved in closer. He reached out to press his hand to the stone wolf. Despite the hour, it was warm from the sun’s rays. Rúni ran his hand over Fen’Harel’s stone tail. 

Rúni was very nearly not surprised when he heard a voice behind him. Familiar, warm. 

“Lethallin.” 

“I thought I was awake,” Rúni said as he turned to face Solas. The other elf looked the same as ever, but minus his staff. 

“But alas, you are not.” 

“Am I in your dream, or are you in mine? Or am I just… actually dreaming?” Rúni turned back to the wolf statue and started brushing away dried leaves and bits of twigs - more because it was habit than because he really felt the need to clean a shrine in a dream. 

“You have approached me. I merely followed along.” 

“So you’re close to the temple, then,” Rúni said quietly. “Why not come and see me when we’re both awake? Why wait for me to dream?” 

Solas moved closer - now that Rúni was aware this was a dream, it was obvious: there were no birds chirping, the tree’s leaves weren’t moving despite the fact that he could feel the breeze on his face… “You know why I cannot, lethallin.” 

“I saw a white wolf earlier today… At least… I assume I saw it and didn’t just dream it up.”

“An omen. And then I find you here, at the Wolf’s shrine.” Solas moved past Rúni. He reached up with one pale hand to touch the wolf’s stone muzzle. “Curious, isn’t it?” 

Rúni let out a small noise, but watched Solas stroke the stone wolf’s face, his face softened to a point Rúni had seen only very rarely. “Are you going to tell me why I haven’t seen you in the flesh at all since that day? Why you abandoned us? Why you abandoned me?” 

“I was no longer needed.” 

“Dread Wolf take you, Solas!” The words hung, sharp and heavy like knives, in the air. They were almost tangible here. “I need you! You’re the only one who knows about…” He waved his hand at his head. “Morrigan’s no help. And they don’t have any answers that make any sense. I try to find you, to talk to you because you, hahren, know more than any of us what it is to be an elf, though I’m angry to admit it.” Rúni turned away. 

He flinched at the hand that fell on his shoulder - heavier and warmer than it really had any right to be. “After Corypheus was defeated, and his orb destroyed… I had no reason to stay. You are strong, da’len. I knew you would be able to make it without me.” Rúni shook his head unhappily, hands curling into fists at his sides. But he didn’t speak, so Solas continued. “There are things I would not have you know of me, da’len. I know you dislike me for it, but it is the way it must be, ir abelas.” 

“Do not call me da’len, Solas, I am not a child and I do not appreciate it. I wear Dirthamen’s mark upon my face proudly.” 

“You are a child to me. But very well, lethallin.” The hand fell off Rúni’s shoulder and Rúni let out a small sigh of relief and let his eyes closed. 

When he next opened them, Solas was gone and there was a white wolf very far away, staring at Rúni. 

Then he woke up. 

And he was staring straight at the statue of Fen’Harel.


	6. Chapter 6

By the time Rúni managed to meander out of the temple and back to the camp, the sun was starting to peek through the trees, the clans’ hunters slipping away into the forest to hunt. They were all sleek and deadly, bows on their backs, Andruil’s mark in all shades of the rainbow on their faces. Once, Rúni had thought to be like them, to leave Dirthamen’s side to join the hunters. He was glad, now, that he hadn’t. If he had become a hunter, he would never have left the clan, and who knew what would have happened with the Breach. His people would be lost, and the Well would be lost. 

And he wouldn’t have Dorian, either. 

He slipped into the tent and expected to be able to just slip back into bed with him without any fuss, but instead he was awake, sitting up in bed. 

“Why are you awake?” 

“What I want to know is,” he said, ignoring Rúni’s question, “How you manage to slip my wards so consistently. You don’t have a drop of magic in you, and you didn’t ping my wards when you left but you hit them all coming back in… how?”

“You’ve been putting up wards?” 

“Ever since you drank from the Well. You started wandering at night and I wanted to make sure you were safe. Didn’t seem to make a difference, you slipped them all the time anyways.” Dorian sighed and laid back down. “Where did you end up?” 

“The temple.” Rúni sank down on the edge of the cot next to Dorian then curled up against his chest. “In front of the statue of Fen’Harel.” 

“That’s the wolf, right?” 

Rúni nodded. “I had a dream, too. I saw Solas, spoke to him… I reached out to him in the Fade and he found me.” 

“What did he say?” Dorian tugged Rúni close to his chest, rested his chin on top of Rúni’s head. 

“Nothing. He never tells me anything. I ask him why he left after it all, he just tells me that he had to go.” Rúni shook his head. “And before I woke up, there was a wolf standing in his place. A wolf with his eyes.” He shuddered. “It’s an omen, but I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me.”

“Could you ask your keeper? Don’t they know stuff like that?” 

“Ask them about my Fade-Walker friend who turns into an omen of all bad things we know about? No, Dorian, I… They won’t be able to do anything about it. I just want a straight answer out of him for once, Dorian.” 

Rúni sighed and shifted, curling both arms around Dorian’s waist. He tipped his face up a little and Dorian automatically tipped his face down, bumping their foreheads together gently. Rúni hummed softly, curling his fingers into Dorian’s hair. “Why don’t you get some rest while I get us breakfast, amatus?” Rúni shook his head, though, tightening his grip just a little. 

“Dorian… Stay just a little longer?” Dorian sighed but gave up on trying to get away. He pressed his lips to the tip of Rúni’s nose then angled his head down again. 

“So needy,” he mumbled into Rúni’s hair gently. “How did you ever save the world?” 

Rúni let out a small chuckle. “Not by getting any more sleep than I do now,” he said quietly. Yeah, Dorian definitely remembered long nights up in the library with Rúni, or laying in Rúni’s bed without the elf’s rather considerable warmth while he shuffled through papers for hours at a time. Or even once, rather preposterously Dorian thought, after a full three hours of lovemaking in which Rúni had managed to come four times. The man didn’t know when to simply lay down and rest. 

“You’re going to put yourself into an early grave if you keep not sleeping, you know.” 

“Is that why you spend all day asleep? So you can get old and wrinkly?” Rúni grinned up at Dorian. 

“That is exactly why I sleep all day. So I can get old and wrinkly with _you_ , you silly goose.” Dorian tapped his finger on Rúni’s nose. It managed to draw a chuckle out of Rúni and his cheeks flushed, the tattoos almost disappearing. “Which isn’t going to happen if you keep working yourself to the bone. Relax for once. Lay in bed and let me get you some breakfast, got it?” 

Rúni laughed softly then nodded. “Got it.” He turned when he heard footsteps approaching the tent. He sat up a little, keeping one arm over Dorian because he was pretty sure he recognized those footsteps. 

Sure enough, the head of a familiar staff poked first through the flap in the tent then it opened and an elf stepped in. They were surprisingly young, with close-cropped blond hair, of a shade similar to Sunneva’s. They also had bright green eyes and matching vallaslin and the same wipe-lipped mouth as Rúni. “Keeper!” 

“Hello, da’len.” The Keeper’s voice was deep and lined with the hallmarks of age, despite his unlined face. He smiled and bowed a little. “I wanted to come see you, I apologize for the early hour, our hunters told me they saw you emerge from the temple not an hour ago.” 

Rúni turned back to Dorian. “This is Keeper Istimaethoriel, Dorian. Dorian, the Keeper of my clan.” 

“Pleased to meet you, Keeper.” Dorian bowed his head in greeting but made no real attempt to break out of Rúni’s hold. Still, he looked between the two. “Am I right in seeing a…. resemblance, though?” It was hard to miss the familiar mouth, the large eyes… 

“Ah.” Rúni flushed and ducked his head. “Keeper Istimaethoriel _is_ my father. That is to say…” 

“After fifteen years without mage born to the clan and no First, Csilla and I decided we had to try something. Unfortunately, Rúni did not bear the fruit that is magic, but perhaps Sunneva…” 

Rúni’s flush darkened and spread, the entirety of his vallaslin vanishing under his blush. “Keeper!” He turned and pushed his face into Dorian’s shoulder. 

“I can’t say I’m not surprised in your choice, Rúni. I always knew you were destined for greater things than simply defending the clan. I am glad to see you now defend all of Thedas.” Istimaethoriel sat on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on Rúni’s shoulder, his staff balanced across his knees. “In a way, I am relieved you are no First, Rúni. I would not have sent you to the Conclave. But you were always fascinated with magic.” He looked to Dorian, green eyes narrowed as he assessed Dorian. 

“Csilla has already made her feelings for you known, Dorian Pavus. She thinks you a danger to the People and to Rúni. But Rúni is an adult and has always been an excellent judge of character. Csilla aside, you are more than welcome among the clan.” He smiled and leaned in. “And as much as Csilla pretends she is above the clan, she still bends to my word on occasion.”

“Only sometimes,” Rúni said, continuing to keep his face in Dorian’s shoulder. Dorian could feel the tips of Rúni’s ears brushing against the underside of his chin, “She listens to you more than she’s ever listened to me.” 

“An unfortunate disadvantage of being her child, Rúni.” 

Rúni nodded then turned his head. “Can we come to breakfast with you? I haven’t had a proper breakfast since I left the clan.” 

“Of course.” He smiled then stood so Rúni could get up. Leaning on his staff, Istimaethoriel watched them both get up. Rúni ran his fingers through his hair and tied it up again, then reached over to smooth Dorian’s hair. Their touches were tender, as gentle as any mated pair’s. 

Finally, they broke apart but only enough for Rúni to take Dorian’s hand, their fingers twined together easily. The were orbiting each other, like two halla engaged in a mating dance. He smiled and leaned on his staff then said quietly, “Rúni, after breakfast, I would like to speak with you privately.” Rúni nodded, looking grim. But he followed Istimaethoriel out of the tent and down the rows of aravels - already the barriers between the various camps were breaking down. Elves that looked nothing like they belonged to the same clan were sitting together, the lighter armor of Dalish from the Marches could be seen alongside the heavier furs of those clans that lived further south, dark hair next to pale, brown skin next to white. 

Still, Dorian more than Rúni, drew looks from those they passed. Dorian was not the only human in the camp - some clans allowed their members to take human lovers, so long as that elf produced children only with other elves - but he was the only human mage, and the only one from Tevinter. 

But the clan they finally arrived at was bigger than most of the others - 18 aravels total, children and adults and elders all alike. Rúni said quietly, “Clan Lavellan is nearly ready for a split. We’re getting too big. Part of why I didn’t protest leaving.” 

“But every clan needs a Keeper, and without even a First… we’ve been putting it off. It’s risky, but… Thanks to Rúni’s efforts, we haven’t been under attack recently.” Istimaethoriel moved forward. “Part of what we’re also hoping to accomplish here is to find a First for our clan so in a few months or years we can truly split off.”

“Do Keepers always have to be mages?” Dorian looked between all the elves - their eyes were turning towards them now, curious but not about to interrupt their Keeper. 

“Keepers are responsible for keeping the clan safe. They raise barriers around the camp at night, divert forest fires around the aravels, and keep us safe from sh- humans,” Rúni explained. 

“And many of our teachings are passed down magically, what lore we have left to us is too important to be corrupted by memory,” Istimaethoriel continued, then tapped his staff against the ground. He reached out for Dorian’s aura and Dorian automatically recoiled, unsure. “Let me show you something. I know you will appreciate it.” He smiled and Dorian relaxed, letting a bit of Istimaethoriel’s magic curl around a bit of his - the Keeper felt nothing like Csilla. Where her magic was heavy and oppressive, Istimaethoriel’s was calmer, gentler, more soothing. It was hard to believe that Csilla was a healer, especially with magic so unlike the Keeper’s. 

He felt Istimaethoriel’s magic twist at his and over the space of a few blinks of his physical eyes, Dorian could see lines of magic drawn down in the dirt. They were invisible unless he used his magic to see them. They were wards, but unlike any he had ever seen before. They were intricate and yet…. So incredibly simple. The barriers most mages knew - those taught by the Circles - drew on the mage’s own power, but these… 

He blinked again, trying to figure out where the magic was being pulled from. It wasn’t coming from Istimaethoriel, that was easy enough to tell. He felt a tug of magic and the upper layer of lines faded, and the lines beneath grew brighter. “You’re pulling directly from the earth!” He exclaimed, looking up at Istimaethoriel. The Keeper nodded and smiled. “I would show you the wards of the temple, but I fear you would collapse. A human mind is not meant to see elvhen magic. Ours is subtler, you would strain yourself too much to see. Imagine what you see now, but in layers so deep we have not yet found the bottom. To hide and protect and defend, all at once.” He carefully uncurled him magic from around Dorian’s, then reached out to steady him. 

“That is why a Keeper must be a mage, why they must first be a Keeper’s First, to learn and practice and grow.” Dorian leaned on Rúni for just a moment as his world re-oriented itself then let out a small sigh. He straightened and tightened his grip on Rúni’s hand. The elves were all still staring at them, patiently waiting on Istimaethoriel. 

Rúni stepped forward instead. His shoulders were squared, his voice taking on the no-nonsense tone it always took on when Rúni was handing down judgement from his place in Skyhold’s great hall, as nothing more or less than the Inquisitor. It was the same tone of voice he had used when he sentenced Erimond to the Rite of Tranquility for his role in corrupting the Grey Wardens. But he barely got more than a few words into speaking before one of the elves got up and moved forward. She looked Rúni up and down, taking in his appearance, then threw her arms around his shoulders. “Welcome back,” she said quietly, “ _ma vhenan_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates for over a week. I've been absolutely slammed with ideas for other DAI fics and have been trying to write enough of those to keep writing this. Three separate fics with 2000 words each in them later.....
> 
> This is shorter than I wanted, but I really wanted to get this chapter out once I had reached a stopping point. 
> 
> (Also I realized Keeper Lavellan was actually female only about 85% of the way into this chapter so uh. I guess just go with it?)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to come together, especially things concerning Solas.

Rúni didn’t react immediately to the arms around him and the words spoken into his ear. But he finally pulled away and stared down at the elf woman. Dorian opened his mouth but neither he nor Rúni could find the words. 

The elf smiled and slipped her hands down Rúni’s sides to his hips. Rúni reached down to grab a wrist in either hand. “Luclina… Stop.” She looked up at him in shock, then over at Dorian. Comprehension dawned. 

“I should have known,” she said quietly, “I heard you brought a shem with you. Should have known you would go off and abandon us.” 

Dorian stepped forward, “Rúni? Who’s this?” 

But before Rúni could respond, she turned to Dorian, “I’m his betrothed,” she snapped, grabbing for Rúni’s sides. 

Dorian’s heart plummeted into his gut but Rúni was freeing himself. He shoved her hands away and backed up into Dorian’s chest. “We ended it before I left, remember? We talked about it, how it wasn’t right for us, for the clan.” Dorian’s hands came up instinctively to curl around Rúni’s sides protectively. He was quivering every so slightly under Dorian’s touch. 

“Rúni is correct,” Istimaethoriel said, intervening before Luclina could say anything in response. “He came to me just before he left, informed me that he had broken off the betrothal. Said it was mutual, that you agreed to it.” 

Luclina scowled, “I didn’t agree,” she said shortly. “But I don’t want him anyways. Not if he’s been laying with a _shem_.” She spits the word like it’s poison in her mouth. She turns and strides away from the camp, grabbing a bow before vanishing into the forest. 

Istimaethoriel sighed and said, “Give her some time to cool off, Rúni.” Rúni nodded and leaned back, glad for Dorian’s presence at his back, his familiar, musky scent in Rúni’s nose. The Keeper then turned to address the rest of the clan. “One of our own has returned to us after a great time away. Please, welcome him back into our ranks.” 

One by one, and then all at once, the rest of the elves got up and approached. They made no attempt to pull Rúni from Dorian’s grip but instead reached out to touch his face, bump their foreheads together. Rúni ran his thumbs over the vallaslin of more than a few. They spoke murmured elven to each other, words Dorian didn’t know and had never heard Rúni use. But as more and more of them greeted him, the tension started to ease out of him. His shoulders lost the tension that had never left them as long as Dorian had known him. 

Rúni finally pulled away as the last of the clan made their greetings, but reached back to take Dorian’s hands in his own. Dorian didn’t move right away, though. “Are you alright?” He asked. “That elf woman… Luclina…” 

“I did end it, Dorian. I had this feeling, before I left, that I wasn’t going to be going back to the clan one way or another. Besides… when I left, she didn’t have her vallaslin yet. She’s my age, but she wasn’t ready.” Rúni turned to look at Dorian. “You’re the one I want to be with, Dorian. You and not her. Maybe never her. Of all the people in the world, you’re the one I want to grow old with, got it?” 

Dorian smiled, weakly. “Yeah. Okay.” He nodded then leaned in to kiss Rúni lightly. “Don’t forget to introduce me. You standing in my arms while you bump foreheads with fifty elves isn’t introducing me, either.” 

Rúni laughed but turned again, guiding Dorian to a seat - most of the elves seated around the fires were sitting on the grass, but Rúni sat on one of the few stools scattered around and gestured for Dorian to sit on the other - they were squat little things, able to be easily stored in an aravel. Dorian was glad, though, that he didn’t have to sit on the bare ground. 

True to his word, Rúni went around the fire and introduced the elves. Dorian immediately forgot every single name he was told but he nodded to them each in turn. 

One of elves - and it was impossible for Dorian to tell male from female unless they spoke - started doling food from the pot out into bowls that were passed around, without silverware. Dorian peered into his own bowl - it was a lot like what Rúni had been brought their first night here, but much thicker. It was oatmeal and rice and huge fat chunks of meat studded into it. Dorian pondered the benefits of trying to pour it into his mouth when he looked over to see Rúni using his fingers as a scoop. 

Rúni grinned at the look on Dorian’s face and sucked at his fingers. “You are a savage,” Dorian said quietly but with a smile. 

“What? It’s good! I’m still having trouble believing that Fereldens have been eating water slop for centuries. The things you shem eat is astounding.” Rúni shook his head and picked out a hunk of venison with his fingers. He sucked on it for a moment then started nibbling. Finally he turned to one of the other elves. “Do you have a spoon for _emma lath_?” 

The elf, who had rather baleful red-brown eyes, stared at Dorian for a moment before they produced an intricately carved spoon that they passed to Rúni who passed it to Dorian. 

Dorian took it gently. “Antler? From one of your halla?” The elf nodded. Dorian turned the spoon over in his hand, studying the intricate carvings. “This is amazing,” he said, “I almost don’t want to use it to eat with, it’s so beautiful.” 

Rúni’s eyebrows went up. “Then eat with your hands like a civilized person, Dorian,” But he was grinning and close to laughing. 

Dorian scoffed but started to eat. It was delicious. Thick and hearty with a hint of spice, just enough to warm him up. No wonder Rúni had been missing this, he doubted there was anything like it anywhere else in Thedas. “Why haven’t you ever made this?” He asked, looking up. 

Rúni looked up from scooping more food into his mouth. “Well it’s mostly the spices that make it… And when I went to the conclave, I lost everything I brought with me. I tried, but… it was never the same.” He shrugged. 

Another elf looked up from across the circle of flames. “We would have sent you some, da’len.” Her hair was pulled into a long braid over her shoulder, Sylaise’s markings on her face. “All you had to do was ask.” 

Rúni smiled. “It’s not the same if it doesn’t come from a clan’s pot.” He was finishing off the bowl by the time Dorian had eaten only half of his. Rúni lifted the bowl to his mouth and started to lick it clean, a wicked grin on his face that Dorian could only see in his eyes. Dorian just shook his head and mouthed ‘savage’, but it only made Rúni grin wider. 

Rúni happily accepted more of the oatmeal into his bowl and got to work on it. Dorian did have to admit that it did seem more efficient the way the elves were eating, but at the same time he didn’t really want to eat with his hands. 

After the group around their fire was done eating, Dorian included, Rúni stood and attempted to start gathering up bowls. Instead, he hand he held out remained empty. 

“I can wash the bowls, I have not forgotten how,” he said. 

The female elf from before, with the braid over her shoulder, said, “You are a guest, Rúni, and hahren, as well. It’s not right for you to clean our dishes.” Instead, she stood and took the bowl from Rúni, then Dorian’s, then gathered up the rest. She ignored the spoon Dorian offered as well and turned to walk away from the camp. 

Dorian huffed but pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets. He wrapped the delicate carved antler carefully then tucked it back into his pocket. 

It’s just in time for Istimaethoriel to come back over. He rests his staff lightly on Rúni’s shoulder. “Perhaps we can have that conversation, Rúni?” 

Rúni nodded. He leaned down to kiss Dorian lightly and told him, “I’ll be back. Play nice.” Then he straightened. He and Istimaethoriel walked out into the woods together, out past the sentries. The woods were almost dark here, the cover above so thick. 

“Dorian,” he said, turning to look at Rúni. “It’s obvious that you care for him and he for you.” Rúni nodded, looking a bit unsure. “Have you pledged vows?” 

Rúni blinked in surprise at that. “Have we…” He looked down then away. “We haven’t discussed it. We weren’t even sure we were both going to even be alive at this point, and after the Well… I spent a lot of time just listening. I wasn’t… able to interact at all. And Dorian… We talked, before, about him going back to Tevinter. He wants to change things there. But he doesn’t want me to go with him.” 

“Because you’re an elf?” 

Rúni laughed lightly, “Because he wants to do it himself. And he knows that if he takes me I’ll be the one wrapping Tevinter around my finger. Which while we would both enjoy…” He smiled gently. “He needs to do it himself. To prove to himself that he can change his country. So no, we haven’t talked about it.” 

“Is it something you want?” 

Rúni flushed and glanced up. “Possibly. He’s… he’s the light of my life, Keeper. He means everything to me. And it’s terrifying still. I never thought I would leave the clan, let alone become what I am now. I never imagined falling in love with a human.”

“We do not choose who we love, Rúni. And it is easy to see that he loves you as much as you love him. I wanted to ask about vows because… I was sure you had already spoken them.” 

“Truly?” Rúni couldn’t believe it. That Keeper would think that… that he would think he and Dorian had already pledged themselves to each other. 

He nodded and smiled. “Yes. You move as if you have known each other for years.” He leaned in a little. “Perhaps vows would be a good way to convince Csilla that you are serious. But it should not be a decision you make lightly. I know humans, when they take pledges, they intend to take them for life. It is not how it is among our people.”

Rúni nodded, thinking hard. “I’ll have to talk to Dorian about it. I don’t know if it’s… something he’s ready for.” 

Istimaethoriel smiled. “Of course. There is also one more thing, Rúni. I wanted to speak with you about it first, before I talk to the other Keepers.” 

Rúni frowned, unsure what would require the input of other Keepers. 

“It would be unusual, yes, but I have been laying serious thought to proposing that you receive Keeper tattoos.” 

Rúni’s eyes widened. “Keeper tattoos? But I’m not…” 

“Not a Keeper, I know. And also, you don’t possess any magic. But, just the same, you had changed things for our people forever - not only the Dalish, but the City Elves as well. I have been writing with your spymaster… Leliana, I believe her name is?” Rúni nodded. “And she spoke of what happened in Halamshiral, that effectively an elf is sitting on the throne of Orlais. Plus, you have a clan of your own. Friends who care for you, a lover who I think would swim across the Waking Sea if you asked it of him, and you have been leading them, and leading them well.”

“I…” Rúni was speechless for the first time in a long time. The last time he had been speechless had been when Dorian told him of the blood magic ritual his father would have performed on him. “I don’t know what to say… Of course I would be willing to, that would be… wonderful.” 

Istimaethoriel nodded. “Good.” He smiled. “I’ll propose it to the other keepers and start drawing up the lines.” 

Rúni struggled to keep the grin on his face down to a slightly less maniacal look, but was failing pretty badly.” He reached out to touch Istimaethoriel’s shoulder, fingers light. Istimaethoriel brought up his hand as well and they stood there for several moments before Istimaethoriel finally broke away. He smiled. “We should probably get back.” He turned to walk back to the camp, Rúni walking at his side. 

It was odd, to be considered a Keeper’s equal. Just a year before, Rúni had been an untested young adult, sent to the Conclave to learn and listen. And now he was Herald of Andraste, and Inquisitor, and the keeper of the Well of Sorrows. Also, he had Dorian, and friends, and his clan was still alive and well. So much had changed, and yet… so much was still the same. 

But he paused near a tree to listen to the voices. One sounded so much like Solas he stopped dead. But the voice was lost in the stream of voices, words about wolves lost to him. He pushed down, searching for that one voice among hundreds. “Rúni?” It was distant, tinny. He ignored the voice in favor of continuing to bury himself in the voices, looking for one speaking of wolves. 

Then, suddenly, he was in it. All the other voices faded away, until all he could hear was ‘wolf tracks in snow, a white wolf in white, dark eyes dark nose, black mouth, red tongue. White fangs dripping red blood. Biting deep.’ 

“Solas?” Because the voice did sound like Solas, if not a bit younger, a bit softer. In response, the voice nearly shouted ‘Fen’Harel!’ 

Then Rúni was reeling back. He staggered and almost fell but instead found himself caught by the arm. “Rúni!” 

Rúni struggled to recover himself, get his feet back under him. “Keeper?” 

“You were gone, suddenly. You weren’t responding. And then you came back?”

“I was listening. The Well. The voices…” Rúni was shaking. There was no way he could avoid telling his Keeper about this. “Ever since we arrived… There was a friend of mine, in the Inquisiton. An elf. Neither city nor Dalish. He… was a mage. He knew a lot about our ancient people, but he… left. Shortly after we defeated Corypheus.” 

Istimaethoriel guided Rúni to a rock he could sit on. 

“Since then, I’ve been meeting him in my dreams. He can walk the Fade like we walk the forests, Keeper. And last night, I had a dream. I met him. In the Temple, in front of the Wolf’s statue.” Istimaethoriel went very still. “And right before I woke up, there was a white wolf in his place. And it had Solas’s eyes.” Rúni swallowed. “And the first day we were here… I was outside, just beyond the edge of the camp. I saw the same white wolf.” 

“An omen,” Istimaethoriel breathed. He looked around like the wolf was going to appear at any time. “The Dread Wolf… walking among us?” He shivered. “Let’s get back to camp.” He stood, but Rúni shook his head. 

His legs were weak, the voices still too loud and insistent. “I can’t stand.”

Istimaethoriel looked hesitant. “If the Dread Wolf walks the forest, Rúni.” 

“Just an omen,” Rúni shook his head. “And I have the feeling that he wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“Of course he would hurt you!” 

“Mythal didn’t hurt me.”

“Mythal is not the same.” 

Rúni shook his head. “The Creators…” He hesitated, unsure if he wanted to tell Istimaethoriel the truth he knew about the gods. “I’ll be okay, Keeper. Please. Go back. If you need to, send Dorian. If not, I’ll come back when my legs can support me.” He knew he couldn’t shake his people’s faith in their gods. They had lost so much, but he would not take this from them. He would keep that knowledge to himself. 

Istimaethoriel hesitated. He finally nodded. “I must speak with the other senior Keepers about this.” He got up and hesitantly left Rúni sitting on the rock. 

He let himself slip back down into the voices, but as hard as he searched, he couldn’t find Solas’s voice again. Rúni surfaced again, and when his eyes opened, he was staring down the same wolf. It was sitting in front of him, blue-grey eyes intent and staring. 

Without being able to help himself, Rúni reached out. The wolf was warm to the touch, coarse fur thick. It didn’t try to break away, just allowed the contact. He stared down into the wolf’s eyes. “Are you Solas?” The wolf blinked. Rúni swallowed, then asked, “Are you Fen’Harel?” The wolf, again, blinked. 

Rúni had been taught that to speak the Dread Wolf’s name aloud, especially when alone in the forest, was asking the god to arrive, to sniff out a clan and wipe them out. 

The wolf continued to stare at Rúni. Finally, it lifted a paw to place it on Rúni’s knee. Rúni still had his fingers buried in the wolf’s thick scruff. “Tell me what you are,” he said firmly, insistently. “If you are Solas, I would have you tell me.” The wolf continued to stare. “I am your friend, Solas. Before anything else, I am your friend, you stupid…” He shook the wolf slightly, feeling tears start to well up. “I want you to trust me. I thought you did.” 

Rúni lifted his head when he heard somebody or something crashing through the underbrush. He looked up to see Dorian emerge. 

“What are you doing out here?” He asked. 

Rúni looked to the wolf, but his hands were empty. There were a few strands of white wolf hair still pinched in his grip, but the wolf was gone, without a trace. No footprints, no smell, nothing. 

“Well I was talking with Keeper Istimaethoriel, but then I had to listen. And then I couldn’t get up, so I sat here until you showed up.”

Dorian stared down at Rúni’s hands then frowned, “Is that… fur?” 

Rúni nodded. “From a while wolf. I think the same one I saw earlier. Also, I think the wolf is Solas, so there’s also that.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an excuse and that excuse is the fact that I wrote this chapter FOUR TIMES. Not rewrote, but wrote completely from scratch 4 times. To make up for it, have a longer chapter.

Three days passed before Istimaethoriel came to Rúni with sketches for Keeper tattoos. The days had passed quietly, with Rúni too absorbed in listening to the Well’s voices for that hint of Solas’s voice to do much else. He gave permission for his Harts to breed with other halla as any other clan wished, knowing that their blood would help all the herds to grow stronger and prosper.   
  
Dorian spent his time either with Rúni while he was listening to the voices, or speaking to whichever Dalish mage would speak to him. According to Solas, a lot of the techniques he had known as being created by the Neromenians had been stolen from the Elvhen.   
  
But Dorian was sitting at the small, short desk with Rúni draped over the bed listening when Istimaethoriel came in, his staff tapping against the front of the tent before he stepped inside. He squinted around the tent then finally spotted Rúni and Dorian. “Ah…” Istimaethoriel’s other hand, holding a sheaf of papers, bounced against his chest briefly. “I was hoping he would be awake…”   
  
Dorian smiled and got up. He crossed to the bed and sat on the edge. He reached out to take Rúni’s hand, cradling it between his palms. “Hey, wake up. Istimaethoriel is here to talk to you.”   
  
There was no immediate response, but Dorian turned to look up at the Keeper. “He’ll come out soon. It used to be, that when he was listening, he was oblivious to anything around him. Nothing I did could wake him up. But now… As long as he’s not too far down he’ll come back.” He smiled. “What did you need?”   
  
“Did Rúni tell you about my offer to him to give him full-body vallaslin, like a Keeper has?” Istimaethoriel settled on the chair Dorian had just vacated, resting his staff against the side of the desk.   
  
“He mentioned something about being really excited,” Dorian said with a smile. “And a bit confused. I’m a bit confused. Rúni isn’t a mage, why is he getting Keeper tattoos?”   
  
“In a way, he does have magic, correct? The Mark on his hand. He explained it to me as being the result of touching an Elvhen artifact?”   
  
“Yes, but… all the rifts are gone and the Breach is closed. It hasn’t flared up in months.”   
  
“All the same. There is also the fact that he has done more for elves, and the Dalish in particular, than anyone else has managed to do. The Hero of Ferelden is Dalish, yes, but she hasn’t directly impacted how politics how Rúni has.”   
  
From where he was laying on the bed, Rúni said quietly, “I hate politics.”   
  
“But you’re so good at them!” Dorian said, turning to look down at him with a smile. “Plus, the fact that you have an army that can rival Orlais’s helps.” He turned back to Istimaethoriel. “I’m waiting for him to get in a mood to deal with Tevinter. I could use the backup.”   
  
Rúni sat up onto his elbows with a groan, rolling over onto his side. “What did you want to talk about?” He looked up at his Keeper, rubbing his hand over his face.   
  
Istimaethoriel offered up the papers in his hands. “Some sketches for your tattoos.”   
  
Rúni took them and started pushing through them, blinking down at them slowly. “These are…”   
  
“Complete, yes. You would be going straight to the tattoos of an accomplished Keeper. Mostly because we were worried when we would ever see you again. Also because of your accomplishments… I think you deserve that much.” He smiled and picked out one in particular. “This one adheres most closely to Dirthamen’s symbolism.”   
  
Dorian leaned in to look at it, conjuring a mage light to float over their heads. The tattoos were intricate, trailing down over Rúni’s neck and down his chest. The tattoos were obviously stylized ravens, flying in a swirl around Rúni’s entire body, encompassing every limb. “They’re beautiful,” he said.   
  
Rúni nodded. “I like them.” He looked up at Istimaethoriel. “And the other Keepers agreed to this?”   
  
“Yes. The ones involved in the human world knows just how much you’ve helped us. They agreed that you should be honored for what you’ve done for the People.”   
  
It was hard for Rúni to keep the smile off his face. “When can we do it?”   
  
“Whenever you’re ready. I’m sure you remember what you need to do to prepare?”   
  
“Yes.” Rúni sat up fully. “Do you have ink to match? It’s a little vain of me, but I don’t want to have two different shades.”   
  
“Yes, we have ink to match,” Istimaethoriel said with a smile.   
  
“Good. I’ll go now, then.” He got up and started to change with no regard for the fact that the tent flap was open and the Keeper was still there. Rúni pulled on his Dalish clothing easily enough, bending to adjust the strap of his leggings that went under the arch of his foot to keep them on. That done, he turned to Dorian. “I’ve got to go alone.”   
  
Dorian nodded. “Alright.” He got up and moved in to kiss Rúni lightly. “I’ll… wait here, then.”   
  
“It gives us a chance to talk more,” Istimaethoriel said with a smile. He turned to Rúni. “If you need a bow, you can borrow one from the clan. I think there are a few at least.”  
  
“Thank you.” Rúni bowed slightly then left the tent.   
  
“While he’s gone… let’s talk, Dorian.” Istimaethoriel set aside the drawings and got up. He pulled shut the tent flap and conjured a magelight of his own. In contrast to the cool purple-white light of Dorian’s, the Keeper’s was a warm yellow, like sunlight. “How devoted are you to Rúni?”  
  
Dorian’s eyebrows went up. “Wow, you’re really not holding back at all…” But Istimaethoriel didn’t seem amused, so he swallowed and said, “I love him. More than I’ve ever loved anybody before. I never imagined being able to be with somebody, as myself. I spent so long trying to… hide who I am, because in Tevinter, it’s shameful. But here… I’m incredibly lucky.”   
  
The Keeper nodded after a moment. “Rúni has always been incredible. I do not say that because he is my blood, either. The reason I pushed him so hard as a child, to learn and grow on his own, was because I always had this feeling he was destined for more than just being a hunter of his clan. He’s a natural-born leader.”   
  
“He’s also funny and sharp and pretty good with a sword.” Dorian looked down at his hands, curled together in his lap. He swallowed then looked back up. “He’s somebody I can imagine spending the rest of my life with. And that’s both terrifying… and exhilarating.”   
  
“Has Rúni spoken at all to you of how elves marry? Dalish elves, I mean. From what I understand, city elves marry in much the same way most humans do.”   
  
“Not at all, except to say that he was betrothed before he left for the Conclave.”   
  
Istimaethoriel nodded. “Yes, that is true. Betrothal is like… courtship. We have to be careful, to not allow clans to become too insular. It’s why we allow city elves to join us and bring new blood in. But when elves decide to commit to each other, for as long or as short as they care for,  they pledge themselves to each other, body and soul. It is not a union in any legal sense, but rather a promise between two or more individuals.”   
  
Dorian stared at Istimaethoriel, unsure. “Are you saying this is… Why are you telling me this?”   
  
“If you are as devoted to Rúni as you say you are, I would like for you to know what pledging yourself to him will involve. Not any contracts or paperwork, but love and hard work. So that when the time comes, and Rúni possibly suggests it, you are not unprepared. That you know some of what to expect.”   
  
“Should I be expecting a proposal from him?”   
  
“It was something we discussed. I should not say more,” Istimaethoriel said with a shrug of his shoulders. Then he stood, picking up his staff and his papers. “I need to prepare the ink for Rúni’s tattoos, please excuse me, Dorian.” He bowed slightly then turned to leave.   
  
“Wait.” Dorian got up. “Istimaethoriel… if Rúni does ask… Is there anything I should tell him? Like… Dalish…. Stuff?”   
  
Istimaethoriel smiled. “The truth, Dorian. Tell him the truth about how you feel.” Then he left, and Dorian was alone in the tent. Again.   
  
—  
  
Dorian managed to occupy his afternoon with wandering around the camp performing magic tricks for the elf children and letting them touch his clothing and tug on his ears.   
  
But when Rúni finally came back, just before sunset, he came back naked and dripping. Nobody seemed to even bat an eye at him. The only thing Rúni had was a brace of freshly-killed rabbits hanging from his hand. Dorian stood, stunned, as he watched Rúni walk through the camp to his clan’s aravels. He walked up a set of makeshift steps made from boxes and baskets and into the aravel. But once he was out of sight, the temporary trance was broken and he moved forward, peering into the back of the aravel. Inside the aravel was a large bowl and a silver dagger. While Dorian watched, Rúni started to bleed the rabbits into the bowl.   
  
Istimaethoriel rested his hand on Dorian’s shoulder. “Do you want to stay and watch?”   
  
“Am I allowed?”   
  
“After the conversation we had earlier… I would say yes. You just cannot distract him.” Dorian looked into the aravel and Rúni was watching them, his eyes gold and glowing in the sunset, a rabbit in his hand. “The process of applying the vallaslin is a long process. It is also very painful. If Rúni makes a single noise, he fails this.”   
  
“And if he fails?”   
  
“He starts over.”   
  
Dorian swallowed hard and looked to Rúni. “If he’s okay with it.”   
  
Rúni smiled and nodded then set aside the rabbit. Two of the six had been bled out. He stood, moving the bowl and the rabbit bodies to the side and got out of the way as Istimaethoriel got up into the aravel again, pulling a vial from one of his robe pockets. He settled on a small stool still in the aravel. “Dorian, if you could give us a light?”   
  
Dorian obliged, sending a magelight up to the top of the aravel. Then he found a seat on the edge of the aravel.   
  
He watched as Istimaethoriel disrobed to the waist and shook a bit of the vial’s contents into the bowl. The blood instantly went from dark red to orange a few shades darker than Rúni’s tattoos. Dorian leaned in to look at it, careful to stay back out of the way as Rúni settled on the floor on his back. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath then closed his eyes.   
  
Istimaethoriel looked up at Dorian then picked up another instrument - a reed, sharpened to a near-razor point. The Keeper dipped it into the bowl of blood and withdrew it. Then he leaned in and started to work. Magic infused the air, laced in to the blood ink. Tapping away with the reed, Istimaethoriel started to tattoo Rúni’s skin.   
  
Hours passed before Istimaethoriel had to bleed another rabbit, the blood coagulated inside the bowl.   
  
One of the members of the clan brought Dorian stew and a blanket. He accepted both. The ravens were starting to wind around Rúni’s chest and arms and legs. In addition to the ink, there was also blood on Rúni’s skin. But Rúni was awake and watching Dorian, a tired smile on his face.   
  
“Doing okay?” Dorian asked, and Rúni nodded. “Can he take a break?” He asked Istimaethoriel.   
  
“No, unfortunately. A Keeper doesn’t usually get all their tattoos like this. They get their full tattoos over months or years, starting from when they become First to when they’re ready to lead their clan. It is easier to keep going, and not pause. It makes going back to it harder.”   
  
Dorian swallowed hard but nodded. “How much longer?”   
  
“Have to finish the few here on his front, but then there’s his back. We’ll likely be here until dawn, at least. If you need to, Dorian, I can have one of the clan wake you if something happens. You don’t have to stay awake all night.”   
  
“No, I want to stay. I think I might…. Take a bit of a walk and get a book, though, if you don’t mind.”   
  
“Of course.” The Keeper smiled and nodded. “We’ll be here when you return.”   
  
Dorian carefully stood and returned to the tent. When he came back, he was dressed more casually, with a few blankets and a pair of books. He settled again and wrapped himself up in blankets. He created a second magelight that hovered much closer, so he could read.   
  
The last of the campfires were extinguished by the time Rúni’s front was tattooed. But when he rolled over, Dorian could see the very visible pain on his face. He bit his lip hard enough to bleed but didn’t make a single noise, even as he laid down on his front on the fresh tattoos. Dorian reached out carefully to scoop Rúni’s sweaty hair off his back without touching his skin. “Halfway there, amatus,” he said weakly.   
  
Rúni gave Dorian a weak, pained smile, then closed his eyes as Istimaethoriel started up again with the tattooing.   
  
Hunters were awake and leaving the camp by the time Istimaethoriel had finished. Dorian and Rúni both were dozing, Rúni too exhausted from the pain to even wince anymore.   
  
All the rabbits were bled out and the vial of ink was gone. Dorian had had to give Istimaethoriel some of his magic to keep going, to keep him awake and aware enough to keep going and to feed magic into the blood ink.   
  
Finally, finally, the Keeper sat back and sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. “It is done.” He stood on weak legs to move to the back of the aravel. He pulled down a blanket and carefully wrapped it around Rúni. “Here, Dorian. Stay with him, I’m going to get a couple of hunters to bring him back to your tent.”   
  
“I can carry him,” Dorian said. He shucked off the blankets and set aside his books. He got back up into the aravel and carefully rolled Rúni over onto his back and picked him up. Rúni finally let out a noise and it was one that Dorian felt in the pit of his stomach. A deep moan of pain. “I’m sorry, amatus. We’ll get you laying down.”   
  
He crossed the camp, carefully navigating back to the tent. It wasn’t until Rúni was settled on the cot on his belly that he opened his eyes and smiled. “Hey…”   
  
“Hey. How’re you feeling?”   
  
“Like I got a back massage from a herd of halla.” Rúni looked down at what he could see of himself. “How do they look?”   
  
“They look good. You’re all swollen and still pretty bloody, but you’ll be better soon. Try and get some rest, alright?”   
  
Rúni nodded and closed his eyes. He was careful not to move too much but settled in and managed to fall asleep. Istimaethoriel came in a few minutes later, one of the clan behind him carrying Dorian’s things. “Here. Your blankets and books.” The Keeper offered out a small metal tin. “And this, for the tattoos. To help them heal properly. You will need to rub it in thoroughly to the skin.”  
  
“When do I need to do this?”   
  
“Midday. Then every few hours afterwards. It will keep the skin from drying and scarring until it heals. Use it until the tin is empty.” Dorian nodded and Istimaethoriel bowed his head, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to get some sleep myself.”   
  
“Thank you, Keeper.” Dorian sighed when he was gone and opened the tin to smell the contents. Elfroot, for its obvious healing properties. Dorian could also pick out Crystal Grace, but the rest of the scents were unknown to him. Elfroot to heal the damaged skin, Crystal Grace to soothe the inflammation… He closed the tin and set it aside. Tugging the blankets up over Rúni’s shoulders, he laid another one over him then settled down to try and rest some.   
  
The floor wasn’t all that comfortable, not nearly as comfortable as the cot or a real bed, but there were plenty of blankets. Dorian settled down to sleep. He was out almost instantly, too tired from being awake all day and all night to even dream.   
  
When he woke, it was to an Inquisition soldier rapping on the nearby desk. Rúni groaned weakly, but Dorian jolted upright. He also immediately groaned - no number of blankets could disguise the fact that he was laying on the ground. “What is it?”   
  
“Dispatch for the Inquisitor, ser.” The soldier offered out the roll of paper.  
  
Dorian reached out to take it. “He just spent all night getting tattooed, let him sleep.” He took the roll and broke the seal. He immediately started to read. He looked up to see Rúni staring at him. “Just a status report, nothing to worry about.” But as he reached the end of the first page, he frowned. “Wait, maybe not…” He pulled the papers away as Rúni reached out. “I’m still reading, you cretin. Let me finish.” He caught Rúni’s hand with his own when he reached out again.   
  
“What’s it say?” Rúni asked.   
  
“Cullen’s… he collapsed.”  
  
“What? When?”   
  
“A few days after we left. Josie wrote this, she said that she didn’t want to send word without also having something to report back on about his state.” Dorian relinquished the paper to Rúni.   
  
_Lastly, I must deliver some bad news. There is no way to say this gently, so I will simply say it. A few days after your departure, Commander Cullen collapsed on the battlements. He took a tumble down a set of stairs, as well. Luckily, he received aid quickly and is, at the time of this letter being written, recovering in the infirmary. He does not remember the incident, but the healers say it is normal, as he hit his head on the way down._  
  
 _They do not yet know why he collapsed, but Madame Vivienne states it is possibly a lingering aftereffect of Cullen’s lyrium withdrawls. We will not know if that is the case until Cullen receives a more thorough examination after his head heals enough. We will keep you informed of his status, Inquisitor._  
  
Rúni sighed. He looked up at the soldier who was still waiting and told him, “Dismissed. Thank you.” The soldier nodded and left, and Rúni sighed. He winced in pain as he laid back to read the rest of the letter. “Varric says the first draft of the book he wrote about me is done. And he said to tell you that it’s likely his editor’s going to want you to be some sort of stereotypical Tevinter magister.”   
  
Dorian snorted, “Isn’t this supposed to be a biography?”   
  
“Yeah, and he says his editor doesn’t much care.” Rúni sighed. “He won’t let the facts be changed, Dorian.”   
  
“That’s not what I’m worried about. No matter how kindly Varric portrays me, people are always going to think of me as a Magister.” He sighed. “I just worry that, if she changes the facts about me, what’s she going to tell Varric to change about you. Like it or not, you’re a lot more influential than Hawke ever was. Yeah, Kirkwall kicked off this new, blood mage-Templar war, but he’s Champion of one city only. You’re the leader of a group that has as much if not more influence than any leader in Thedas. I mean, Empress Celene answers to you. Orlais is basically yours.”  
  
“I’m not a dictator, Dorian.”   
  
“But Varric’s book with highly influence what coming generations will think of you as. Along with what you do as the Inquisitor for as long as you’re still Inquisitor.”   
  
Rúni sighed and flopped back. He stared up at the ceiling of the tent, the papers held against his chest loosely. Then he lifted his hand to stare at his palm. Tattooed on each finger were stylized feathers, and when he bent his arm, the ravens changed directions, flowing into one large one instead of several smaller ones.   
  
Dorian sighed as well and freed himself from his blanket cocoon. He picked up the tin. “Here, let me rub this all over you. Istimaethoriel said it needed to be done every few hours for a while.”  
  
Rúni smiled, “Finally I get my massage from you,” he said, eyes going half-lidded. He looked both sleepy and half-aroused to Dorian, his ears drooping and relaxed, his hair still in a mess around his head.   
  
“Let’s not make a habit of this, alright, amatus?”   
  
“Whatever you say, Dorian.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no claims as to the authenticity for how I chose to portray the application of the vallaslin, nor am I probably going to explain what exactly Rúni did out there. Imagine frolicking, killing rabbits with arrows, and a VERY cold swim in a fast-flowing stream. His teeth only chattered for 20 minutes afterwards.


End file.
